Summoning Into Darkness
by ShadowedRainbow
Summary: This is a multi-universe crossover. Unfortunately I could figure out how to list them all; especially since one of the universes isn't on Ffn. As odd as it may look; the story might just catch your interest. This is AU and the events in the movie never happened. Family is supposed to be made of people you trust; but sometimes they are the ones that betray you.
1. Chapter 1

**A note from Shado. I'm not exactly sure _where_ to put this so I'm putting it here. This is just one of many stories that were written as a side project to an original fiction that I have created. These stories came about in chatting with the OCs you will find here. Each OC is an actual person, the names _were_ their screen names when we started this project. The original fiction and these side projects are still ongoing and more than likely will not be finished for at least another year possibly two. The following story was actually used to fill in the blanks on one of the character's life in the original fiction. There of course the names of Napoleon and Illya were changed as was the organization they worked for. But **_this_** is the original story line. I have permission from the OCs to use their names (in fact they insisted on it) but I do not own, nor do I receive any monetary compensation for anything related to the Man From Uncle… though if anyone sees Illya, tell him I've still got his handcuffs. And his chocolate sauce… but I used the whipped cream. L This story should be considered AU. Please let me know if you'd like to see more of this story line. –Shado** *** A further note from me: Ok so like, FFN doesn't have one of the crossover universes that starts with this story. It is The Sentinel from the mid 90's. Keep the faith though, Stargate SG-1 _does_ eventually come into play. How? You'll just have to wait and see... Shado***

Chapter One

1989

"Keeper when did you say Shado was due back?" Gem asked his head popping up over the banister of the attic staircase. Dust motes danced in the sunlight from the dormer window over Keeper's shoulder causing Gem to sneeze.

"Bless you." Keeper said reflexively as he stared around the cluttered attic. There were boxes and trunks everywhere. Stacks of stuff made it almost impossible to walk through the crowded space. He shook his head in dismay. "She will be at the conference for at least a week."

Gem finished the climb into the attic, placed his hands on his hips and groaned. "I had no idea that she had this much stuff." He moved to a stack of old packing boxes and batted the dust off the top. The resulting cloud sent both of them into paroxysms of choking. "Damn, how long has this stuff been up here?"

"I have no idea." Keeper said daunted by the task before them. They had planned this very carefully, this excursion into Shado's attic. Their leader was away at a conference on the East Coast for the week, leaving them this perfect opportunity. What they hoped to accomplish was simple. It was time that the beach house underwent some modernizations. Insulation being the primary upgrade. Even though the weather in the Pacific Northwest was mild by certain standards, it still got cold in the winter and living on the water as they all did, they had decided to take matters into their own hands and remedy the situation. Shado, herself, had groused about the heating costs in the previous winter, but had been very reluctant to undertake the chore of taking care of the issue. She was oddly against any changes in the five bedroom home that she had provided for them. Respecting her wishes, they had left well enough alone, until now that is. Something needed to be done and Keeper had decided to take the bull by the horns and do it.

Which brought them into the attic with the intention of shifting the contents into the basement until the insulation had been laid. Keeper sighed heavily and began the chore, picking up the upper most box off a stack and heading down the narrow staircase. Gem shrugged and wrapped his arms around the next case. They carried their cargo into the basement, then returned to the attic for more. Conversation was limited to grunts and groans and they shifted the heavier boxes, and speculation about the contents of said boxes when the load was lighter. They had too much respect for their "leader" to open the cartons they were moving. Shado, as all of them, was intensely private, if there was something that she felt they needed to know she would be the one to tell them. When the girls got in from dropping Shado at the airport, they joined in with good natured razzing about the lazy boys, and soon they were looking at just a few remaining boxes and a large foot locker. It was the foot locker that held their attention. It was a battered combat green affair, various dents and scratches marred its surface. The faded and worn stenciling on the top wasn't difficult to read. This was Shado's locker from her years in the military.

"I thought she had ditched all that stuff." Mage stared at this ghost from their past like it was a coiled cobra.

"Evidently she decided to keep it." Keeper shoved the box with his toe but it didn't budge. He bent and tried to lift one end but its weight decided the matter for him. "Gem, you'll have to help with this one. It's too heavy." Gem grabbed his end, and with a three count they hefted the locker. "Damn, what's she got in here, rocks?'

"Knowing Shado, it's probably a dead body.' Brit teased. She and Mage followed the guys carefully down the stairs. Maneuvering the locker in the narrow confines wasn't easy, the weight and its dimensions making it a clumsy burden. Things went well until Gem reached the last step. His foot caught on the riser and he stumbled, dropping his end to catch his balance against falling. The foot locker hit the edge of the stair with a loud thump and the distinct sounds of splintering wood.

"OW, shit." Keeper cussed. He hurriedly set his end down and rubbed the muscles in his lower back. "Gem, you ok?"

"Yeah, just tripped. Sorry." He bent to pick up his end once more, but an ominous cracking stopped him. "Oops, I think it broke."

Mage and Brit squeezed between the wall and the locker, having set their boxes on the steps. "Oh, man she's going to kill us all." Mage moaned. Shado's temper was fast becoming legendary and none of them wanted it turned in their direction. Keeper leaned against the wall, still rubbing his strained back.

"Maybe it won't be that bad and we can fix it." Faln replied from her position at the basement door. She trotted up the steps and knelt to run her hand under the tilted box. She frowned. "I really can't tell we're going to have to empty it to fix it. I'll grab another empty box and we'll see what we can do. Why don't you all shove it off the steps and out of the way?"

When she returned from the basement, she joined the others where they stood staring at the chest sitting in the center of the living room. She stifled a giggle at the looks on their faces. You would think it was a bomb or something, she thought. She set the box down and nudged the locker with her toe. "Ok, so who is going to do the honors?"

"I vote that Keeper open it." Mage said. Brit seconded her, and Gem made it official. Keeper glared at them all. "After all this was your idea to begin with."

"Alright fine." He snapped and bent to pull the lid open. Silence reigned for a long moment, then he whispered. "Oh shit."

They all stared into the trunk in surprise. Somehow they had been expecting something a bit more, interesting than what they found there. Items carefully wrapped in tissue paper had been just as carefully placed into the foot locker. There were a few things that hadn't been stored with such care, and it was these items that caught their attention.

"Guys, I get the feeling that this is something that Shado would definitely not approve of." Gem said softly. He reached out a hand, contrary to his words to trace his fingertips over a photo album that lay on the top. It was a cracked embossed affair, its exterior showing age and care. The gold lettering on it had worn so thin that they could barely read the lettering. "We really shouldn't pry." His hand clutched the photo album in reflex and he pulled it from the trunk.

"It would be really bad form." Keeper agreed and he pulled a shoe box wrapped tight with red ribbon and tied in a hard knot. Faln and the girls all knelt to pull other items from the depths of the foot locker. Without speaking of the violation they were about to undertake, they took their recovered treasures to the side and sat in a circle, the better to see what each of them had uncovered.

"You realize of course that she WILL kill us." Mage said holding the tissue wrapped bundle she had chosen to her chest. Nods ran around the circle but no one made the effort to return the prizes to their resting place.

"Face it guys, we're just a bunch of snoops and we are all dying to know what deep dark secrets that she has hidden from us." Faln said and she unwrapped her bundle. The yellowed white tissue paper parted easily enough to reveal a black suit jacket. It smelled of cedar, as did everything in the trunk, and with a snap of her wrist she shook it out. It was made of wool and cut in a style that had gone out many years before. Faln's eyes lit up slightly. "A man's." Mage and Brit followed quickly, revealing in turn a dark blue turtleneck and a black one. Small frowns of disappointment creased their brows. "I wonder where she got these?"

"Maybe from a relative. She did, does, have family you know." Gem speculated. "What you got in your box, Keeper?" Keeper as carefully as the girls, removed the ribbon tying the shoebox closed, slid off the lid and stared into it for a long moment. His face paled slightly and he seemed a bit shaken by the contents he had revealed.

"Um, well it's definitely not clothes." He whispered. He pulled a pen off the table behind him and reached it in. Hooking something with the end he carefully lifted the pen. A Walther P.38 dangled from his hand. The pistol had been modified in some strange fashion and was well cared for, gun oil gleaming dully in the light. The grip was worn and showed signs of heavy use. There was a silver K personalizing the weapon and this sent a cold chill through the group.

"Wow. I knew Shado had a past, but a monogrammed gun?" Brit breathed. Mage shook her head negative.

"Shado's name didn't have a K in it, Brit." She observed. "At least not one that I know of, that could be used like that."

"Are you sure of that?" Keeper said softly, recalling the fact that not one of them knew each other's true names. Not even after five years of living together did they know who they all had been in their past lives. It was an unspoken agreement, reached when they had fled the military. Their identities would become the names they had learned during the experiments, their former lives gone for the safety of the team and of their families. They had in effect, killed themselves off. Mage thought for a moment, then ruefully acknowledged Keeper's point. He set the gun carefully aside and pulled out the next item. It was an old fashioned silver ink pen, heavy in his hand. He turned it over in his hands for a moment, noticing the various scuff marks and scratches that marred the shiny surface, then with a shrug handed it off to Faln who was sitting next to him. When it had made its way around the circle and back to him, he laid it carefully next to the Walther on the carpet. The next item he pulled from the box was a thin black wallet, a man's from the look, equally battered and scarred. He flipped it open to reveal a single card in the plastic protected slide pocket. The gold card was still legible and only added to the mystery of the foot locker.

"United Network Command for Law and Enforcement." He read. "There's a signature here, but its too faded to read clearly. I can make out an 'I', an 'N' and there's our 'K'. What the hell was the United Network Command for Law and Enforcement anyway?" he asked the room in general. He closed the wallet and it also made the rounds of the room to at last come to rest beside the other items he had recovered. "Any clues, anyone?' Negatives came from everyone. They grew more mystified as he pulled other odds things from the shoe box, a gold cigarette box that obviously wasn't cigarettes, a pair of cuff links, some shirt buttons, a gold travel clock and some really strange darts that they had a feeling were more dangerous than they looked. At last when the box was empty, their attention turned to Gem who sat with the photo album on his lap. He caressed its worn cover once more and looked thoughtfully around at the group.

"I think we'll probably find our answers there, Gem." Faln said indicating the book. Mage had moved slightly off to the side, the better to look into the foot locker. She was peering into its depths in a concentrated fashion. There were plenty of other items still wrapped in tissue, and from their shape and bulk, she guessed out loud that they may be other articles of clothing.

"I think you are right." He agreed and without further prevaricating, he opened the album. Everyone crowded around so they could see what was there. The first page was blank except for a hand written face page, they all recognized Shado's distinctive scrawl; Illya Nickovetch Kuryakin 1966-1969. A rose had been pressed and still clung to the page, its brown petals still holding a faint trace of color. Gem carefully turned the page hoping that he wouldn't destroy the fragile memento. He sucked in his breath and whistled softly. "I think our questions are answered."

The subject of the photos rarely varied, a young blond man, in his late twenties or early thirties, slimly built graced them all. In some he was shown with another man, dark haired and suavely attractive. The captions under the pictures along with small personal notes, all in Shado's handwriting, gave their identities as Illya Kuryakin, the blond, and Napoleon Solo. There was a series of photos, labeled Partners, that seemed self-explanatory. The affection the two shared was obvious in their postures. Several of the photos had been taken in locations outside the States and only bore the country name as caption. There were a few pictures of others in the album, an elderly man named Uncle Alex; and a younger couple April and Mark.

"Still it leaves a lot to be answered." Keeper said mostly to himself. "Wonder if she worked with them, with him?" he speculated. His relationship with Shado was a difficult one to define and at times jealousy would spur him to rash words and actions. "Notice, there are no pictures of herself in here." He pointed out.

"Seems Shado's aversion to self-portraits is an old one." Faln smiled. "I doubt that will ever change." The others agreed, it was something they often teased her about, her dislike of photography. "Keeper's right, though, this raises just as many questions about her as we had before. We still don't really know who these people are or how she knew them." She looked at one of the photos labeled "Partners", it was one of only a couple that were in color. "Although, you gotta admit, they were really rather good looking."

"I suppose." Keeper growled slightly. Gem hid a chuckle in the turning of another page. This one didn't contain photos, but it had another pressed rose and a folded invitation. "Ah, crap."

Gem flipped the invitation open and read it to the group. "Mr. Alexander Waverly and his Wife, Eleanor formally request your attendance at the Wedding of their daughter, Pagan Michelle Waverly to Illya Nickovetch Kuryakin on Sunday May the 1st , in the year of our lord Nineteen Hundred and Sixty-eight. The wedding will take place at 12:00 pm at St. Patrick's Cathedral with Reception to follow directly after at the home of the bride's parents. In lieu of gifts donations can be made to the Archdiocese Charities Fund. RSVP required." He laid aside the invitation and held up the photo that had been underneath. The smiling face of their sensei as she looked into the eyes of her groom answered their questions at last.

It was a while before anyone spoke, they finished off the photo album lost in their own thoughts. None of them had known that Shado had ever been in a serious relationship much less married. It was a sobering thought, that they knew so little about the person responsible for their current freedom. They weren't certain what to think, they knew she had her secrets but this was a rather large one to be kept. It was Faln who voiced the question that was in the forefront of their minds. "What happened to him?"

"Well the album dates are from '66 until '69 so I'm assuming the marriage didn't last." Mage said. "A divorce do you think?"

Brit shook her head. "No, I don't think so. If they divorced, why did she keep this stuff? I mean, look, the clothes are his obviously, as is everything else here. Would you keep mementos of a bad marriage?"

"I think something happened to him." Mage said. She flipped back several pages in the album. "I mean look, these guys go around armed. From the photos and the ID card, they were involved in some kind of Law Enforcement agency. That means it was dangerous at least some of the time." She tapped her finger on one picture that showed Illya shackled to the wall. "And unless they were into bondage, and I wouldn't put it past Shado, I'd say that dangerous would be a mild description, why else would they train for something like that."

"Points to Mage for observation." Keeper agreed. He motioned toward the foot locker. "Faln anything else in there that might be interesting?" She obliged him by carefully unloading the remaining items from the box. The last thing she pulled out was an old reel of 8mm film. "Bingo." He grinned. "I think I seem to recall an old projector among the stuff we moved, along with a screen. Home movies anyone?'

The girls carefully repacked everything into the box Faln had brought up from the basement as Gem and Keeper went in search of the movie equipment. They didn't look at each other, uncomfortable with the knowledge they had gained in the past couple of hours. Guilt was beginning to set in, guilt that they had given into their curiosity and had found things they may have wished not to.

With much clattering and noise, the boys set up the old equipment, arguing about the placement and exactly how to thread the film into the projector. The thing was as old as any one of its would be operators and almost defied their ability but at last it was set. Before beginning their viewing, Faln closed the shades on the large bay windows, shutting them all into shadow. Something they found appropriate given their journey "into" Shado's past. Mage poured them all something to drink and Gem at the risk of being thought frivolous, grabbed a bag of chips from the pantry. He claimed hunger and a lack of breakfast as his motivation when Mage growled at him. Keeper did the honors and started the film.

The film started with shots of a hallway, people were moving through it carrying folders or objects of some sort. Some of them waved and spoke to the camera person, but there was no sound. However some of the words were obvious. The movement of the camera stopped at a door with the words Lab Six; Dr. Kuryakin; on them. A slim feminine hand pushed the door open to reveal a seated figure at a lab table. The blond head was bent, peering into a microscope and making notations on a pad of paper. He wore a white lab coat and they could see the black of a turtleneck above the collar. His head came up and a smile spread across his face as he turned on the stool.

"Damn, he definitely was good looking." Faln muttered softly. Illya stood up and with a swift motion took the camera from the unseen filmmaker, the picture blurred for a moment then steadied to show Illya kissing Shado. She was dressed rather casually but when the pair separated the circle could see a triangular badge of some sort pinned to her blouse, the number 17 plain. Illya had a similar badge on his lab coat with the number 2 on it. They were talking animatedly about something. Illya reached out toward the camera and the film went dark.

The next time the camera was used it was outside in a park. A group of people were sitting around a picnic table, Illya and Shado among them. Something had happened in the interim between filmings because Illya had his arm in a cast and they could just make out the dark shadows of bruising on his face. Shado was looking at him as if she were afraid that he would disappear if she took her eyes off him. The camera person must have said something because they both turned toward the camera and smiled tensely, but brightly into it. Shado made a gesture and then took the camera. The dark haired Napoleon took her seat beside Illya and smiled into the lens with sardonic grace. He snagged a beer and toasted the camera then his partner. Again the film went dark.

There were several other scenes recorded, not all of them with Illya, there were a few with the younger partners April and Mark, and then one with an elderly pair that could only be Shado's parents Alexander and Eleanor Waverly. They were presiding over a dinner of some sort, Keeper mused that it must be a family get together because of the resemblances, when Shado's head turned toward the dining room door, she smiled softly and sure enough Illya came through it. He went straight to her side and took her hand. There in front of her family, he knelt on one knee and looking into her eyes said something.

"He proposed." Mage whispered. The pandemonium following his action left no doubt in their minds what the answer had been, and they watched as he slid the ring on Shado's finger, her family beaming proudly at their soon to be in law. Waverly took Illya's hand and shook it vigorously and Eleanor hugged him just as vigorously. But it was the look on the newly engaged couple's faces that entranced the watchers.

'They were so in love." Brit's words were wistful. "What could have happened?'

The film played on, showing more scenes from the past; work related, some play, scenes of dress fittings for the wedding, a few quiet evenings caught for one reason or another on film. Then the film began to show what could only be the wedding day. Illya looking more pale than usual, dressed sharply in a designer tuxedo and tails, Napoleon fixing the boutonniere in place. Shado in her dressing room, looking radiant in her wedding gown, her mother fluttering in the background. Then the camera's trip down the aisle to stop in the first row of the cathedral. Several shots of various people coming into their places; then the wedding party, Illya flanked by Napoleon and Mark taking their places; the heads turning to watch the bride walk down the aisle on her father's arm after the maids of honor April and someone they didn't know. The whole ceremony was filmed. When the film finally ran out it took them a few moments to realize that the show was over. It had ended with a final shot of the newlyweds climbing into a limo to start their new lives together.

"Man I feel like peeping Tom right about now." Gem muttered as Keeper turned off the projector.

"You and me both." Mage agreed.

"I think we all feel that way." Keeper said flipping the lights on and opening the blinds. "I think our questions have only raised more questions. Like where is he now?"

"That, my dear is the $64,000.00 question." Brit sighed. "Next one is, do we find out or do we leave this well enough alone?" They looked at each other, then at the footlocker full of memories, back at each other, then as one entity, "Nah, we go looking."

"Of course, when Shado does find out we have been snooping, and you know she will, she's going to either kill us or exile us to Purgatory." Mage muttered darkly. "So, we start looking for- which first? Kuryakin? That's Russian or Slavic I think."

"Hmmm. I think our best bet would be to see what we can find out about that group United Network Command for Law and Enforcement. That would be the best place to start I think, wouldn't you agree Gem?" Faln said. "Can you use the internet for that?"

Gem nodded. The internet was rapidly becoming a great tool for their use, and he as a computer programmer was their resident internet expert. "If there is something on it, I'll find it."

"While he looks for that stuff online, what say we do a bit more investigating of the shoebox. See what we might figure out from the stuff in there." Keeper pulled the open box to him and setting the items out on the table carefully, he spoke again. "I have a friend at the police department. I think we might be able to use his contacts to see what we can find out on the Walther. It's a custom job, but I'm sure there has to be some info on it somewhere." He reached for the phone. As he dialed he took a close look at the gun. "Well, whatever he did, he didn't file off the serial numbers. I don't know if that will help or not, but it couldn't hurt."

Faln looked at the rest of the items. "I'm going to "see" what I can see- who knows I might get a hit. Or a headache." Her ability in psychometrics was iffy at best but there were times when she could read an object. She closed her eyes and sent herself searching., blocking out the gun from her search. The violence associated with that item would ruin her chances with any of the other things. "Well, these definitely belonged to him. They got quite a bit of use- the wallet and ID especially. I can see something with the pen too. I'm not sure what, it's blurry, almost like a double exposure. I keep seeing a pen then something else." She frowned in concentration. "I don't think I'll be able to get much more than that. There was too much violence in his life for a clearer reading. Sorry."

"Hey you tried." Mage offered. She picked up the pen and played with it idly. Keeper was busy talking to his buddy in the PD and Gem was cussing out the internet connection and its lousy modem speed. Brit excused herself to go start dinner, the hour was getting on toward evening. Mage wasn't paying particular attention to the pen she held, but was thinking heavily about the home movie they had watched. She tightened her grip on the pen and jumped when there was a soft snap. She looked at the pen in surprise, she hadn't thought that she was strong enough to damage the metal pen. But a small hair line crack had appeared where the pen screwed together. "Oh crap. I think I broke it." She showed it to Faln who took it.

Faln shook her head. "No, I don't think you broke it. I think it's meant to come apart." She fiddled with it for a moment, then removed the bottom of the pen. Instead of the expected ink reservoir the inside was solid. "Now this is odd." Keeper and Gem joined them at the table. She messed with the pen a bit more and squeaked in surprise when the push button slowly extended like an antenna. "Guys?" she asked uncertainly.

Keeper shrugged. "Maybe it's like Maxwell Smart's shoe phone. Who knows?"

"Go ahead, Faln, try it." Gem urged teasing his friend.

Faln gave him a look that could have melted concrete but then grinned mischievously. "This is Agent 007 reporting in. We have a situation at the beach house. Surrounded by enemy agents; need backup pronto." She said into the pen. The smile she wore was quickly replaced by shock when the pen in her hand emitted a high pitched shrill.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

*Deep in a subterranean fortress under the streets of downtown New York City a communications expert choked on the coffee he was sipping. His job was to monitor the frequencies used by all UNCLE operatives, even those that were no longer valid. A young female voice broke into his silent watch with the words he most dreaded. "This is..." the transmission faded out for a moment then with his expert fiddling, stabilized. " …reporting in. We have a situation at the beach house. Surrounded by enemy agents; need backup pronto."

The com tech pulled the duty log from its place even as he pushed the button to identify the signal. There were no teams out this time, he noted. The duty logs showing that all agents were accounted for. He rapidly checked the sign in logs. The computer in front of him beeped, spewing out the identity and location of the rogue communication. His eyes wide, he opened the frequency for the Boss.

Napoleon Solo, Number One Section One of UNCLE NYC, leaned back in his chair behind the big mahogany desk that he had inherited so long ago. Idly he looked around his office. Sometimes, it struck him as odd, to be the Old Man. Those thoughts usually came to him as he watched the younger agents come and go. Many came through the doors into his domain, some returned, some didn't. It was then that he really felt his age. He sighed pulling his thoughts from the dark path they were wont to tread upon. He pushed the stack of files in front of him in irritation. Paperwork had never been his strong point and it still wasn't. Even with the competence of his personal assistant he had an inordinate amount of signing to do. _I wonder if it's possible to die from paperwork,_ he wondered as he opened one more file waiting for his signature before being sent into the annals of UNCLE history. Just as he was ready to start reading, his intercom bleeped.

"Mr. Solo I am sorry to bother you, but something has come up here in communications. Sir, the computer has red flagged a transmission for your eyes only." The solemn voice of the com tech seemed strained. Napoleon's eye brow inched upward at his words. Odd, he thought.

"I'm on my way." He stood and hurried from his office. What transmission would trip the red flag program? He wondered as he walked briskly through the halls. He reached the com room in just a few minutes and peered over the tech's shoulder at the computer screen. The words there made his breath catch and for a moment, a hand squeezed painfully in his chest. "Have there been any other transmissions?" he asked once he had his control back.

"No sir, just the one."

"Is the channel still open?" He closed his eyes against the hope.

"No, sir. It failed shortly after we received the first transmission." He nodded sharply. Reaching over the tech, he hit the print command and waited as the printer spewed out the requested documents. He ripped the page from it and folded it carefully. Then deliberately he cleared the screen. Without saying a word, he commandeered the key board and with a few deft strokes, erased all entries related to the transmission. The tech looked at him in shock. The look in his eyes forestalled anything the young agent might have said.

"Listen well, nothing came through the com this evening. This conversation never took place and you never received ANY transmission." Solo ordered sternly. The chill in his voice reminded the agent of HOW Solo had become Number One Section One. The tech nodded slowly. Solo spun on his heel and stalked away, carrying the single piece of paper in his fist like a talisman.

He reached the sanctity of his office and locked the door behind him. For a moment he stood, not seeing its familiar confines, his gaze turned inward, lost in the memories that came unbidden to his mind. With an effort he crossed to the settee that graced the wall across from him where he sat heavily. The crackle of paper from his fist caught his attention and he carefully smoothed the creases from the fragile piece he held. He spread it on his knee, drinking in the words that held so much hope for him. For someone who meant so much to him. Their computer precise blocking blurred as the tears began to fall from his eyes. Their outlines softened and he rubbed a hand against his face and raised his eyes to the ceiling in silent supplication. "Please." He whispered to whatever or whomever might be listening. "Please."

Once he had regained his composure he reached into his jacket and pulled out a slender pen that he carried, more for nostalgia than anything else these days. And with a deft twist freed the radio antenna from its confines. He moistened his suddenly dry lips and cleared his throat. "Open channel D."

Across the globe, the atonal whistle of the communicator split the night. Instantly awake, years of conditioning coming to the fore, he reached for the item laying on the nightstand next to him. His hand brushed over the butt of his gun for a moment, closing on the slender pen. "This had better be good." He said softly into the communicator. 'It's late, and I'm tired, Napoleon." His soft accent was more pronounced, fatigue making his voice husky. He sat up in the bed and turned on the lamp, its soft light turning his silver blond hair white.

"Illya, I- you need to get back here as soon as you can." Napoleon's voice sounded strained.

"Napoleon, is everything all right?" He was wide awake now, one hand reaching for his glasses as he spoke.

"Yes, no- Illya just, get back here." There was silence for a moment. Then Napoleon's next words sent his world careening out of control. "A transmission came through about twenty minutes ago. On your communicator. The one we have been looking for." He couldn't breathe. His hand trembled and his head thunked against the headboard. "Illya, we got a location."

"Nap-?"

"I don't know."

'I'll be on the first flight back that I can get." Illya threw the covers back from his legs and swung them over the edge of the bed.

"I'll have the jet ready when you get to the airport, tovarich. I'll be waiting."

"Spasibo tovarich." He said softly. "Out."

Thirty minutes later found him boarding one of UNCLE's private jets at Orly, the pilot greeting him with a small smile. He didn't ask questions of agents, and most especially not of the CEA of Global Operations, Illya Kuryakin. He watched the slim blond buckle in then closed the cabin door. His preflight was done, he was just waiting on the tower to give them the green light.

Illya leaned his head back against the leather covered seat, and allowed his mind to wander back in time. Painful though they were, his memories were better comfort to him than the hope that he was attempting to keep under control. The lights of the Paris airport faded replaced by the lights of what had once been Alexander Waverly's office...


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

When the atonal noise died down, silence reigned in the living area. Keeper moved first, he nudged the pen with the tip of his finger and then chuckled. "OK, obviously the battery died. Still, I wonder exactly what this thing is."

Gem sighed and glanced back at the computer screen. The computer sat on the desk in one corner of the large living room, the monitor framed in the center of a bank of windows. Shado spent most of her time sitting at the desk, working on her latest project whatever it may be. Detritus of her working hours was spread across the desk and the table next to it, forming an "L" of interesting space. He played with the small obsidian letter opener that she had left lying next to the monitor. The slow computer was still searching for any records on the acronym UNCLE, so far there were no hits, a fact he shared with his compatriots.

The sun was setting against the water turning it the odd shade of twilight that they all loved. Mage made sounds about fixing dinner and headed into the kitchen to scare up something for them all. Faln and Brit, deciding to leave the odd pen on the table, moved back to the box of things they had moved from the trunk. Keeper joined him at the desk and opening the center drawer, pulled out Shado's rolodex. He opened the case preparatory to flipping through it, but Gem stopped the action with a quickly placed finger.

"Are you sure you should be going through that?" he asked quietly. Keeper glanced down at the case of cards, then met his eyes.

"Probably not." He shrugged. "But if we are going to snoop, we had better do it right. Sides, I seriously doubt that anything we find in here would be relevant. She's not stupid."

"No she's not. That's why I don't think going through there would be a good idea." Gem pressed his argument. "Let's just go with what we have already found, ok?"

Keeper looked again at the case in his hand, then nodded his agreement. Gem was right, he decided as he put the rolodex back. He grinned at the other man slightly. The soft bleep of the search engine completing its task caught their attention. Both of them groaned as the dreaded words Search completed without any result shone on the screen. The girls having heard the bleep sighed for a moment. Then Faln snapped her fingers and grabbed the photo album. She flipped carefully through the pages until she found the wedding invitation.

"Gem do a search just for fun on Illya Nickovetch Kuryakin would you? I think on the film his name came up as Dr. Kuryakin. And then see if you can find anything on Pagan Michelle Waverly while you are at it." Skeptical, he input the name at her request and hit the send key.

"I don't really expect to find anything, Faln. Dr. Kuryakin may or may not mean anything." He said. He tapped one of the pictures. "Looks more like he was a cop or something than a doctor. Or a scientist.'

"Maybe, but remember he was working in a lab, and his name was on the door." She said in defense of her theory. "Could be he worked for the government."

"In that case, hon, the chances of finding anything out on him are going to be about as good as finding out who was the head of the Darkside Project." Keeper murmured. He looked out at the now dark water. "We know how well that search has gone." His quiet admonishment carried through the room reminding them all for a moment of their shared history. Faln gently closed the album and ran her fingers over the cover in thought.

"I have a feeling that whatever happened, it wasn't good." Brit said from her place on the floor. She had a cashmere scarf in her hands and was playing with it, eyes lost to something they couldn't see. "I can feel sadness. She was crying when she packed this stuff away. And there is this." She held the scarf up to show something on it. A large dark brown stain marred its white perfection, it covered one end of the scarf completely. "This is blood."

"Oh, man." Faln whispered. "You ok, Brit?"

"Yeah, just caught me by surprise." Brit laid the scarf down. "I mean, I wasn't expecting anything like that."

"Could you tell anything else?" Keeper asked. Brit shook her head.

"No, just that she was crying."

"Well, I would guess that our Dr. Kuryakin is dead." Gem said. "Look, he was a Russian during the Cold War. We have seen him in New York, what do you want to bet that he defected and was sanctioned for it? I mean, we know that the Soviet government was fanatical about that type of thing. Look at what they did to Baryshnikov and he was just a dancer. What do you think the penalty would be if he were a scientist? Or possibly a defecting KGB operative?" at the looks on everyone's face he threw his hands up. "Hey it's something to consider. After all, we have pictures of him carrying a gun, and, let's be real, we know Shado was in Intelligence. What's to say he wasn't also?"

"Gem may have a point. But I doubt that a defector would be an effective intelligence operative. For one thing, I doubt anyone would be willing to trust him after that." Mage said coming in from the kitchen. "Dinner will be done in about 15 minutes. It would make more sense for him to be a scientist that chose to defect and would also account for the lab film." She smiled as Gem blew her a kiss. The beep of the search engine interrupted, Gem glanced at it then whistled.

'Ladies and gentlemen, we have a winner." He said and began to read. "Illya Nickovetch Kuryakin, Phd. Physico-Mathematical Sciences; Quantum Mechanics. Born October 31, 1933 Kiev, Ukraine. Dr. Kuryakin attended the University of Georgia in the Ukraine receiving his Masters degree in Advanced Mathematical Theory in 1950. Two years of his postgraduate work was completed at the Sorbonne before transferring to Cambridge in 1952. In 1954, Dr. Kuryakin received a PhD in quantum mechanics for his doctoral thesis on the Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle: Wave-Particle Duality As Demonstrated in Nuclear Fusion. Dr. Kuryakin published several papers in the following two years including ground breaking work within the team of Cherenkov, Frank and Tamm. Dr. Kuryakin dropped from academic circles in 1956. He reappeared briefly in late 1969 to apply for US citizenship which was not granted resulting in his return to the USSR in December of that same year." * He stopped reading. "Can we say sanctioned?" he whispered as the import of the words on the screen sunk in.

"If he got sent back to the Soviet Union..." Keeper's voice trailed off.

"But *if* he married Shado, didn't that make him a US citizen by default?" Mage slid her hand into Gem's as she spoke. Keeper shook his head.

"Not necessarily. There could have been extenuating circumstances that would have prevented his naturalization. We still don't know what happened."

"If he was sanctioned, that would explain the blood stain. They wouldn't have waited until he got to the Soviet Union. Not if he had run once." Faln said. She took the scarf from Brit's hand. "And most certainly NOT if he were KGB. That would have earned him an automatic death sentence." Her words hung heavy in the air. The sounds of the timer on the oven going off echoed in the silence. Suddenly, no one was that hungry any more, their eyes glued to the dried brown stain against the white cashmere.

_*this biography is in part true. The date of Illya's birth can be relatively confirmed by canon (Abominable Snowman), he is identified as a Scorpio-I just picked the date. His degree is confirmed in (Yukon, His Master's Voice and Hot Number) while I invented his thesis subject. I don't claim any mathematical knowledge much less anything related to quantum theory, but hey, it sounds good. His birthplace comes from canon (Fox and Hounds) as does his history as a war orphan although no detail on his family is ever confirmed. In 1956 the team of Cherenkov, Frank and Tamm received the Nobel Prize in Physics for the development of the Cherenkov Principle. I just put an extra flunky in there while they were in the early stages of the theory. By the time the theory became Nobel Prize stuff, Illya had already been recruited by UNCLE. So, forgive me my little foible with his history. It works for the principle of this story.**_


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Shado sighed heavily as she brushed her hair. She really dreaded this conference. These things were tedious at best and at their worst incredibly boring. Making nice with the executives in the publishing industry had never been her favorite thing, even less so in the past year. I t had gotten especially more difficult to put them off since her last novel did so well. They were pushing her for public appearances, book tours, autograph sessions, things that would threaten the safety of those she sought to protect. She laid the hair brush on the small vanity in the dressing room and slowly gathered her hair into a ponytail, securing it with a ponytail holder, then moved further into the suite of rooms provided. She stood by the window gazing out at a city that she had never really wanted to see again. It had been so long since she had been in New York, but this was one conference that she couldn't get out of attending, not if she wanted to keep her publisher. Her eyes sought out the familiar landscape of downtown, tracing the streets that would lead to a certain place. A dark memory threatened her for a moment and she pulled her eyes away from the streets to focus instead on the lights of the distant planes vying for rights in the holding patterns above the city. Muttering a curse under her breath she opened the small jewel case that she carried with her and pulled a platinum band from its interior. Still muttering under her breath she slid the band over the ponytail and holder, the thickness of her hair holding it secure. For a moment she closed her eyes against the pain the coolness of the band brought her, her mind filling in the words engraved on the band… Я буду любити тебе вічно- I will love you forever.

"Forever." She whispered as she finished dressing for the reception that was gearing up below. "Right." She looked once more around her room before closing the door on it's barrenness. "I really hate New York."

_Across town._

Napoleon leaned back against the settee and closed his eyes. He wouldn't be leaving his office until the jet entered UNCLE airspace, then he would take the limo to the airport to meet his longtime partner. He brushed the back of his hand across his eyes, refusing to admit the wetness there was from tears. Could it be possible after all this time? Could their search be over at last? Hope flared briefly, clutched tightly in the iron control that had stood him so well in the past. He closed his eyes and like Illya safe in the jet, allowed the memories to sweep him to a time when things had been so… different….

**_1966_**

It had been a scorcher of a day. The heat came off the streets in visible waves, sweat ran no matter what you did to prevent it. In neighborhoods, kids played in the forbidden spray of fire hydrants, opened by teens as a way of mischief. Walking from the taxi to the front door of Del Floria's had left them both drenched and longing for the air conditioned halls ahead in UNCLE HQ. Even Illya had complained with a soft, "Bozhe moi" under his breath. The interior of the shop was marginally better but they had both quickened their steps into the passageway, the promise of cooler air one they couldn't resist.

Mitzi the receptionist greeted them both with a cheery hello and the dreaded words. "Mr. Waverly wants to see both of you in his office."

Illya muttered something under his breath, too low for anyone to understand but the set of his shoulders as they headed down the hall let Napoleon guess what his partner had said. Several people greeted them as they walked through the hallway, but none seemed willing to detain them for chatter. Outside Mr. Waverly's office his secretary waved them into the office with no comment. It was obvious that something was going on.

"Gentlemen, please take a seat." Mr. Waverly didn't even look up from the file he was reading upon their entry. They shared a look then taking their customary positions waited for him to continue. He ignored them for a few minutes then closing the folder, he laid it on his desk. He fiddled with his pipe for a moment, deep in thought. When he finally spoke it was in an offhand manner that took them both by surprise. "Deucedly hot lately."

Napoleon stared at his superior for a moment. "Yes, yes it has been." He sent a concerned look to Illya and shifted in his seat uneasily. Illya returned his look with one of cool detachment.

"Would you say it's been unseasonably hot?" Waverly continued. He appeared to be following a train of thought completely obscure to them.

"No more than usual sir." Napoleon ventured.

"What?" Waverly seemed to start in his chair as if realizing that he had been speaking. He looked at them for a moment, his beetle brows pulled into a scowl. Then he waved a hand in dismissal. "A situation has come to my attention. One that I think that bears further investigation." He picked up the file he had been reading and tossed it onto the circular table. A flick of his wrist sent the file into motion until Illya stopped it. "Before you gentlemen read what's in that file, there are a few things that you must be made aware of. Things that require more than your usual discretion." He paused for a moment toying with the pipe, then reaching a decision he struck a match and set the tobacco alight. He puffed thoughtfully on it for a few long moments then humpfed to himself. "Mr. Solo, Mr. Kuryakin what I am about to relate to you goes no further than this room. It will not be spoken of again, nor will it ever be put into any report. Once you leave this office, this conversation will never have taken place, is that understood?"

"Yes, sir."

"Certainly, sir."

Waverly stared for another moment at the smoke curling to the ceiling then he cast his eyes downward to the desk in front of him. "What I am about to relate to you is something of a personal nature. Something that happened a quarter of a century ago during the war, An—indiscretion on my part. One that has had far reaching consequences. You are both aware of course of my involvement during the war?" at their nods he continued. "During my time with the underground in Paris, I became, for wont of a better term, intimate with a young lady also involved with the French Resistance. Unfortunately at the time, we were both married, my wife was in the United States and her husband was fighting in Africa. Her name was Gillian St. John. Gillian was," his voice trailed off for a moment as he smiled at a memory. "Well Gillian was something else. She could hold her own against just about anything the Nazis could throw our way. We had six months together, six months of stolen moments. Mind you, I love my wife, but…" he shifted uncomfortable for a moment. "Things were different then. Much different. I lost track of Gillian when the cell that she was working with moved further into the interior in late summer. I was sent away from Paris shortly thereafter, to do what I could in London. I didn't see or hear from Gillian again." He pulled a folded sheet of paper from his desk and held it for a moment. "I received this letter in 1953. It was written by a Sister Mary Catherine of Our Lady of Mercy Hospital." He slid the letter to Napoleon and gestured for him to pick it up. "Read it out loud Mr. Solo."

Napoleon scooped the letter up and opened it, scanning the first lines quickly. "Mr. Waverly, I undertake this task with the heaviest of hearts. It is with my deepest sympathy that I must inform you of the passing of Gillian St. John. She passed into the care of Our Lord quietly and with dignity in her sleep on Wednesday October 10. She had been ill for some time and her passing was a blessed relief from her travails. I must confess that I have undertaken the task of informing you of her passing against her wishes. She did not wish to burden you with her illness but she spoke of you most often. "

"I do not know the circumstances of your relationship with Mrs. St. John only that she spoke highly of you and with the greatest affection. Sir, you were the only person of whom she would speak, thus it is my hope that you might know something of her family or any relative that we may contact. You see, Mr. Waverly, Mrs. St. John left her eight year old daughter in our care…" Napoleon's voice trailed off...

**_Somewhere over the Atlantic._**

Illya leaned his head back against the leather covered seat, and allowed his mind to wander back in time. Painful though they were, his memories were better comfort to him than the hope that he was attempting to keep under control. The lights of the Paris airport faded replaced by the lights of what had once been Alexander Waverly's office…

He had been, well, not exactly shocked by what he heard. War often brought more animalistic impulses to the fore, and men, so far from wives and homes often forgot in times like that. He had been surprised though by the apparent distaste that Mr. Waverly's voice carried. The interruption of the intercom had given him the opportunity to observe his superior without his knowledge. There was something in Mr. Waverly's face that had told him that he wasn't too far off in his assumption that the news of Gillian St. John's daughter had been unpleasant. The receptionist informed them that 's expected visitors had arrived and were currently awaiting admittance. With his permission the office door slid open and two figures entered.

The first warranted a cursory examination, an older man, graying hair dressed in the US army uniform of a colonel, his stride speaking of years of military service. He had seen this type many times before in Russia and here in the US, someone who was well aware of his power and used it ruthlessly. It was the second that was more of a surprise. He felt Napoleon's reaction to the figure as well, a subtle shift in his seat, a slight indrawn breath were all that he needed to know that his partner was seeing the same thing he was. Well, maybe not exactly the same thing, since they thought differently. But there was definite interest on Napoleon's part, despite the knowledge of whom this young woman must be.

He found his eyes traveling over her figure, clad in the same Army green as the Colonel, the only difference being the lesser number of ribbons and the lieutenant's rank on her shoulders. The colonel stopped in front of Waverly's desk, shooting the two agents a swift glance, but she didn't look anywhere but straight ahead. Her stance was one of rigid correctness and absolute stillness as she waited. Illya found himself wondering what her voice would be like as he looked her over once more. There was something about her rigid posture that struck a chord in him. Intrigued he looked at Napoleon, to find his partner's eyes glued to her as well. _Interesting,_ he mused.

"Waverly." The colonel greeted the older man coldly. Obviously he was not pleased at being summoned here.

"Colonel Jessup, thank you for coming here." Waverly returned the coldness with a mild greeting. "Allow me to introduce the CEA of UNCLE New York, Napoleon Solo and his partner, Illya Kuryakin." The colonel sent a cold glance their way. "Gentlemen, Colonel Ira Jessup and Lieutenant…" he looked at the girl for a moment, "St. John."

"Hard to ignore an executive request." The colonel ground out. He took the file he carried and handed it to Mr. Waverly. "Here are the records you requested. As well as the lieutenant." Jessup sneered. "Why you would request a female for this assignment, I have no idea. Granted as a secretary she's quite talented. But I wouldn't use her for anything else." The barely veiled disgust in his voice crackled in the room bringing both Illya and Napoleon up right, ready to speak. The lieutenant however didn't react, letting Illya know that she was well used to this condemnation.

Waverly waved a hand negligently. "Be that as it may, I have a use for the lieutenant." He didn't reach for the file now laying on the edge of his desk.

"Well, I have done as requested and delivered her to you. Now, if you don't mind, I have a unit getting ready to head out, so I will leave you to your-" the look he sent around the room reeked of dislike, "business. Gentlemen." He turned on his heel and stalked out of the office without waiting for Waverly. The snick of the door closing rang loud in the silent office. Waverly stared at the lieutenant still standing at attention before them. Illya had to give her points for her composure, she hadn't moved or even blinked in the time she had been in the office. Her eyes were firmly fixed at a point just beyond Waverly's head, seeing nothing around her. Waverly let the silence run on for a few minutes while he looked at her steadfastly. Then he humpfed once more and tamped his pipe.

"A singularly unpleasant sort Jessup." He spoke at last. Then turned his attention to the lieutenant. "At ease Lieutenant." At his command she relaxed only slightly, her hands snapping to rest behind her back, feet shoulder width apart, but there was still no reaction on her face, nor did her eyes waver. "Do you know why you are here, Lieutenant?"

"I received orders to report for temporary assignment to a civilian operation, Sir." Her voice came as a surprise, soft and slightly husky, and completely impersonal. Illya caught the glance that Napoleon sent his way and returned it with one of his own.

"But no specifics?" Waverly prompted.

"Sir, no sir." She answered still refusing to look at him or to expound on her knowledge. Waverly tamped his pipe rather sharply on the desk in annoyance.

"I said at ease, Lieutenant. This isn't the military therefore ceremony is not necessary." He growled in slight frustration.

"Sir?" She still didn't relax.

"Damn it girl, this is not the time for your obstinacy." His growl intensified. If he hadn't been watching her so intently, Illya might have missed the tiny tightening of her shoulders or the momentary flick of her eyes to the floor.

"Permission to speak, Sir?" she replied finally.

"By all means, Lieutenant, speak." Waverly ground out around the stem of his pipe. Illya suddenly had the desire to be elsewhere rather than be privy to this discussion. There was a tension in the room that made him distinctly uncomfortable.

"Why have you brought me here?" This time her voice wasn't impersonal, in fact it fairly rang with tightly controlled anger.

"That should be fairly obvious, even to you. I have need of your particular—talents."

"My talents." She spoke softly, the word rolling off her tongue in the same inflection that Waverly gave them. For a moment the uniform she wore seemed to disappear forgotten in the emotion that gripped her as she continued, the scorn in her voice like acid. "My talents. Since when have you been interested in any talent I might have? Or is it perhaps that you need a new secretary? Odd, the one currently outside this office seems efficient enough." She paused, "Or is it something else? That's it isn't it? After all this time you finally have a use for me."

"Enough of your insolence, girl." Waverly rose from his seat anger flushing his face. "You would do well to remember to whom you are speaking." Just as quickly as the flash of anger had come it was gone, her posture tightening once more into military correctness.

"I will do as ordered Sir, render any and all assistance required of me as an officer in the United States Army." Her tone left nothing to interpretation, it was as chill and cold as a wind from the Siberian Steppes. Another growl had Waverly in his seat, waving his pipe toward a chair.

"Have a seat Lieutenant. That's an order." She pulled a chair from the table and sat stiffly in it, not relaxing her posture one bit. For the first time she allowed her eyes to flicker over himself and Napoleon. Their light blue color a surprise given the color of her tightly contained hair. With auburn that color I would have expected her eyes to be green, Illya mused to himself.

"Recently, THRUSH has begun to show an interest in 'things' of a certain nature." Waverly began the briefing.

"Things, Sir?" Napoleon asked.

"Things Mr. Solo that defy logical and scientific reason…" Waverly started to explain. An inhaled breath from the lieutenant interrupted. Waverly raised an eyebrow at the sound. Her eyes were wide and she leaned forward for a second before returning to attention. "Yes, Lt.?"

"That explains why you brought me here. If THRUSH is experimenting with psychics then, you DO need me don't you?" there was a hint of satisfaction in her voice as well as a bit of confusion. She actually started to smile but caught it. "This must really be difficult for you. After all this time, to have to admit that *I* was right…" she almost whispered.

"Be that as it may, latest intel shows that THRUSH has started kidnapping people with certain abilities."

"Documented or hinted?" she asked ignoring Illya and Napoleon completely. Her voice was sharp with interest.

"Both. They disappear for several weeks only to resurface miles from where they were last seen." Waverly motioned at the file that Illya still held and he obligingly opened it to show several pictures of the "missing" psychics. "As you can see in the file, the missing include several mediums, a known precognitive and a purported telekinetic. The last taken was the telekinetic. When each reappears, their 'talents' for the most part are completely gone. Three of the so-called mediums are currently undergoing psychiatric evaluation at Bellevue. One of the mediums recently committed suicide and the telekinetic is completely catatonic. Whatever THRUSH experiment they took part in is a particularly nasty one. Not one of the kidnapped appears to have 'survived'."

"May I see that?" she asked Illya, indicating the file. He quirked an eyebrow and slid it across the table. She picked it up and quickly scanned the information in it. For a moment she appeared to be thinking. "Well, I have an explanation for that. None of these are truly talented." She pulled each picture out of the file and laid it on the table. "Madame Zarda was debunked three years ago, caught using special effects in one of her séances. Same with these two. Mr. Tonashi, while able to predict a few things, has never had a reliable premonition. He usually claims that the knowing changed the outcome. Ms. Thomas, the telekinetic, has had some minor success in directing attention 'away' from the object she is trying to move, long enough for her to move it with physical assistance." Closing the file, she looked at Waverly. "If they are experimenting on psychics, at this rate, with the lack of true talent they are using, I would say that their experiment is bound to fail. So why the concern?"

Waverly met her eyes, unflinching. "We need to know what it is that they are doing." He let his words sink in. The change in her was immediate.

"You want to use me as bait. Bait so that your…" she looked at Napoleon and himself. "Agents can get inside and steal whatever it is they are working on."

"Yes." Was all Waverly said. She thought for a moment.

"I suppose that you can justify this somehow. Pulling me into your intrigues, making sure my 'orders' leave me no choice but to go along with your game. Damn you Father. Gods, what a fool I have been, thinking that I could avoid your world." She laughed a bitter hurting sound. "All this time, I thought I had finally gotten away from you." She sighed. "My guess is that you have the cover well established, and just needed the sacrificial goat to tie to the stake. Well your goat can't exactly escape the duty chosen for it. Very well, since you have left me little option and fewer choices, I'll play your little game, follow my orders. But once this is over, I never want to hear from you again."


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

"Mr. Kuryakin, sir?" the co-pilot's voice broke the replay of memory. He sat up straight in the soft chair. "Sir, we will be on approach in about thirty minutes. I have spoken with UNCLE HQ to inform them of our landing time. Mr. Solo will be waiting along with the limo to take you to HQ." the young man stood a few feet away in the cabin knowing better than to wake a sleeping Section Two agent. Illya ran a hand through his hair, noticing as he did so, the slight tremor that ran through it.

"Thank you." He replied adjusting himself to ease the strain of his back. He reached behind him to pull the long aluminum crutch from its place. With a deftness that spoke of years of use, he fastened the forearm brace in place and standing carefully, leaned his weight into it. The co-pilot moved forward to offer a hand as he stood, having provided this service for the CEA before. Illya smiled tightly at him and slowly made his way to the rear of the jet. Maneuvering his way into the restroom there, he leaned against the door, staring down at the crutch he now used. His hand knotted into a fist and he thumped it against the almost useless piece of flesh that was his right leg. He stared into the mirror over the small sink and wondered, not for the first time, what she would think, how she would react when she saw him.

He bowed his head refusing to look into the mirror over the sink. Tears slipped silently down his face as he dared to hope.

_Across Town_

Irritation marred her features as she stared out over the crowded room. She listened with only half an ear to the prattling of her publicist Terry, the rest of her attention focused on her own inner thoughts. The mere fact that she had come to the conference had Terry in a dither. He was well used to Shado's refusals, but this time he had her in a position where she couldn't refuse him. He knew that she wasn't happy to be here, it was obvious to everyone, her posture was stiff and she had barely spoken to people when they pressed for introductions. He breathed a sigh of relief as he realized that her aloofness was only adding to her allure. He had taken great pains to build her reputation as an eccentric and her behavior was only adding to that. He snagged a pair of champagne glasses and handed one to her. She took it with a distracted air, not really paying any attention to it, and sipped it. The sharp taste brought a frown to her face but she erased it to smile coldly at him.

"So what are you thinking so hard about?" he ventured to ask, knowing that she could at this point either cut him to the quick with a retort or give him the answer he was looking for. One never really knew what Shado was capable of until she opened her mouth. Another lesson learned through the years of dealing with her. Sometimes he wished he had never accepted the contract that had been dangled in front of him. Of all the authors that he brokered, she was by far the most difficult of them all. And also the most profitable writer. He acknowledged that fact with a tight smile.

"Nothing that you need to worry about." She said sharply. In Shado speak that meant to back off and he threw up a hand in his own defense.

"No problem. I want you to meet with a few people over the next couple of days, hon. There are some publicity things that I think you really need to consider for the next release."

Shado sighed, her irritation coming to the forefront once more. It was enough in her opinion that she had agreed to this thrice damned convention, now he was pushing her to do the publicity shit. She shook her head. "Look, Terry, I'm here. I'll attend the crap I need to, but don't sign me up for anything more ok? I don't want to do the book circuit, the talk show stuff none of it. That was our deal, and unless you want to break contract you'll stick with it." She threatened him.

"Hey no problem. Just a suggestion that's all hon. Whatever you want." He back pedaled quickly. Something had her on edge he thought. Granted, on her best day she was difficult, but this was something different. She seemed almost ready to fly apart at the seams.

Shado placed the now empty flute on the tray of a passing waiter. She sent him a scathing look and pulled herself up tightly. "Look, I'm tired, it was a bitch of a flight and all I want to do is crawl into bed for the next twelve hours. So, on that note, I'm going to say my goodbyes until tomorrow morning." She held up a hand to cut of his protest. "Save it Terry, I need sleep."

He was forced to watch her wend her way through the crowd, amazed as always how the ebb and flow of the throng parted before her then swallowed her up. No one tried to stop her for conversation, no one seemed to notice that she was leaving at all. Shaking his head, he wandered over to where one of the executives was having an animated conversation with a well-known author. He carefully interjected himself into the conversation.

Once she left the buzzing ball room, she sighed in relief. Her hatred of all things crowded and noisy crashed into her for a moment, but the silence of the empty elevator car soothed her nerves. She closed her eyes and her head thumped against the cool steel wall. Another sigh and her eyes opened again on a scene from her past.

_Another elevator car another time._

She was furious. How dare he treat her this way? It was bad enough that he had ignored her through her childhood, such as it had been, but now to expect her to jump when he called? Just because he MIGHT have a use for her. It made her beyond angry that he would be so cavalier in his treatment of her. She had to force back a self-deprecating chuckle. His attitude certainly hadn't changed at all. She had never been anything more than an inconvenience. A reminder of a time that he wanted to forget.

_Hell,_ she thought as she waited for the elevator to stop, _he couldn't even acknowledge me as his daughter. Oh no, that would be admitting that the great Alexander Waverly had 'made a mistake' his own words hurtful and haunting still. No, I had to deny who I was and become his granddaughter._

She stifled a snort of annoyance causing the two agents who accompanied her to glance at her in question. She sent them a look guaranteed to quell their curiosity only to have the blond, _what was his name again?-_ give her a halfhearted grin of sorts. At least she thought that was a grin, it was something anyway. A slight quirking of his lips, as if smiling was foreign to his nature. There was a look in his eye that made her wonder just how much he knew. Something had her guessing that he understood more than she had given him credit for.

The older agent spoke as the elevator dinged their arrival. "Well here we are, agent apartments may not be the greatest, Lt. But they aren't too terrible." He held open the elevator door for her with one arm across the sensors and made as if to grab the duffle she had dropped on the floor of the car with the other. She ignored his silent offer of assistance and swung it with ease over her shoulder. She stepped around him and looked down the dull grey hallway.

"How depressing." She muttered. "You would think Alex the Great would invest in an interior decorator." She shrugged and gestured for them to lead the way. Solo took the lead, his partner, Kuryakin-that was his name she remembered, walking just off her left side. He made her nervous, there was something about him that tugged at her mind. Almost like a memory, something fleeting and visceral, she tried to pin it down but it skittered away like a feral animal. She sighed lightly, it would come when it was ready and not before. She watched him move from the corner of her eye, he was graceful and light on his feet, a controlled power that spoke of martial arts training. His slight build would mask his ability, she knew, people would judge him based on what they saw and he would prove them wrong. Solo turned the corner and she started to follow, Kuryakin in step with her. She hadn't gone two feet down the corridor when the "giant hand of fate" reached out and knocked her for a loop. Blackness descended on her quickly, trapping her breath in her chest, a giant fist squeezing her brain into mush as the vision took hold.

_She was walking in the dark, it moved and twisted around her a living entity, its tendrils seeking out the light that she was on this plane. It sought to swamp her in its existence, to extinguish the light that threatened it once and for all but with the ease of years of practice she pushed the dark back. She formed a bubble of protection to shield herself from the dark influences, keeping it at bay as she traveled to wherever she was being pulled. For pulled she was, the compulsion to continue forward something that she couldn't fight against. She had before only to discover that it did no good, when the Power called, she had to answer. So, now she traveled, following the strange compulsion Power laid on her to the door that waited for her across the Abyss. She could see it's outlines, glowing strangely blue_ _in the dark, just a faint hint of color in the total black that surrounded her, but it was enough to speed her journey. She was eager to see whatever she had been called to see, to escape the eerie darkness that marked the place between the worlds._

_At last she stood before the doorway, she put a hand out to push it open only to have the door pulled open from the other side. She stepped back in surprise, that had never happen before, she had always been the one to open the door. The light streaming from the other side was blindingly brilliant, making her eyes stream and she dashed away the tears. Something reached from the light into her warding and pulled her forcefully into the light. She had the faint impression of an ancient power, then the light began to swirl around her, leaving only impressions, fleeting touches of colors… blues… golds… flame reds and at last the stark scarlet of pulsing blood splashing against something black, staining the white purity with the color of death. With a scream she was flung out of the light._

She came awake screaming, heart wrenching terrifying screams. She found herself caught in a pair of powerful arms that wrapped around her and pulled her against an equally powerful chest. For a moment she struggled against the embrace but then softly crooned words registered and she opened her eyes. A concerned pair of blue eyes met hers and she realized who held her. In that instant she could almost remember what she had been shown, it flickered then died, lost for the moment in the morass of terror the vision had left her with. All she knew was a terrible sense of loss and devastation. She found herself clinging to the slim, strong shoulders of Illya Kuryakin as the pain of loss cascaded through her.

He held her tight as the sobs came. His blue eyes locked with the concerned brown ones of his partner and he shook his head at the question. He hadn't understood anything that she had screamed upon regaining consciousness. Her words had been in a language totally foreign to him but the terror that embraced her now, he could understand. Something made him want to comfort her. So he sat on the cold steel floor and rocked her gently, crooning to her in his Mother tongue until the medical team came racing around the corner.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

Napoleon leaned against the side of the limo, his nerves well hidden from anyone who watched. Only his partner would have recognized the signs of stress as he waited for the jet to complete its taxi and enter the hangar. His driver remained in the car, not standard procedure by any measure of UNCLE protocol, but the hangar had already been secured, and with the other agents posted around the immense structure the odds of a breach were next to none.

Napoleon didn't care about that, he hadn't even given it a thought until now and he sighed softly. Undoubtedly Illya would read him the riot act once more, his CEA took his job way too seriously at times. The crinkle of paper brought his attention back to the task at hand. He smoothed it once more, the edges showing that the action had been repeated more than once since it had come into his possession. The address it contained now committed to memory, but still he held onto it, a talisman of sorts to secure the future. His eyes tracked the movement of the jet, his ears protesting the whine of the engines as they powered down.

The agent in him admired the sleek lines, comparing it to the jets he remembered from his days on the active roster. This was the top of the line, a new Lear model, with added accessories of course, but still an impressive thing in its own right. As the engine noise died down, the ground crew moved in, the door of the cabin opened and he could see the pilot checking out the hangar. The man's posture relaxed as he made note that the hangar was secure and he felt a bit smug, sometimes it paid to be the king.

_Then there are those times that it really sucks, _he mused. The pilot disappeared as the stairs were lowered and a flash of silver heralded the dark form of his partner. He straightened, concern etching his features as the co-pilot assisted his partner down the steps. Illya was moving stiffly, his usual grace lost somewhere over the Atlantic. Lines of strain wore deep grooves in his face and as he approached, Napoleon could see a flash of quickly suppressed pain in blue eyes. He waited to speak until Illya was even with him and then kept his voice low.

"Tovarisch?" the question was heavy with unspoken concern. Illya shook his head a wry smile ghosting across his face for a second. Napoleon opened the door and motioned for Illya to make himself comfortable in the spacious limo. He stifled a frown as his friend hissed slightly as he stretched his legs out. He made a mental note to talk with Illya's doctor about the pain he had begun to experience while traveling. Surely there was something they could do, and he knew that his stubborn Russian partner would never volunteer any information. He settled himself across from Illya who promptly rapped on the glass, signaling the driver to leave. Illya closed his eyes for a moment, trying to force his protesting muscles to relax then he looked at Napoleon.

"Tell me."

"A transmission came into Communications at 19:00 hours. It lasted only a few seconds, long enough for the red flag to be raised before it ended. The com tech contacted me per protocol. When I got there the computer had completed the ID, confirming that it was made from your old communicator. The transmission lasted long enough for the new tracking program to pin down the location of the signal. But not long enough to open a reciprocal feed. And there were no other transmissions." He held Illya's gaze. He handed over the paper talisman, his hand shaking slightly. Illya took it laying it on his knee as he fished out his cheaters to read the address in the passing street lights.

"309 S 298th St, Federal Way Washington. West Coast." He spoke softly, reading the address that Napoleon had memorized. His voice was calmly neutral but Napoleon with years of reading his partner to his credit, could hear the tension, the hope that they both were denying. He looked over the top of his glasses his eyes pinning Napoleon in his seat. "Why are we not on the plane, Napoleon?"

"Illya we need to decide how we are going to handle this. There are questions that we need to think about." Napoleon managed to keep from squirming in his seat as the cobalt steel gaze of his CEA sliced through him. He had spent the past several hours going over this conversation in his head and still hadn't figured out how he was going to handle this. To be honest, though he had had twenty years to think about this stuff, he had never faced the questions that finding her would have brought. "Illya, you—we need to think about what this could mean to Paige. It's been 20 years tovarisch, things have changed. What if she's happily married? Has children? Have you thought about what this could do to her?"

Illya had to force down the pain that Napoleon's questions raised in his heart. He had thought of those things, had thought about them every day for the past 20 years, wondered if she had forgotten about him, if she was happy with someone else. A flare of jealousy pierced his heart at the thought of anyone else with his wife but he man-handled it back into the box that he kept all those emotions in. If she had remarried, then he would deal with it then, but not now.

"I know Napasha, I know." His head ducked for a moment and he found himself swallowing tears. "But I have to know, I have to see her. To know that she's all right. Even if it means letting her go finally." He glanced out the window at the passing city lights. Napoleon caught the glint of tears hidden by the darkness and the glare of the reading glasses. "Napasha, you don't understand. I never told you what happened …"

_November 4, 1969._

"Hey Paige, honey, we're going to be late if you don't hurry." He knocked on the door to the bathroom as he straightened his cuffs. They had plans to go dinner and then to the opera for opening night of Madame Butterfly. Paige had been so excited about attending that he hadn't had the heart to refuse when Napoleon had gifted them with the tickets. A frown of worry crossed his face for a moment, he didn't like the fact that his partner had been loaned to another office for an unspecified amount of time.

Now that Napoleon was just a few months away from 'retiring' to admin status, he found himself worrying more and more about his partner. His frown deepened when he realized that Paige hadn't answered him. He knocked once more on the door, a sharp staccato noise guaranteed to get his wife's attention. When she still didn't answer he tried the knob, but the door was locked. His instincts kicked in and he pulled the Walther from where it laid on his dresser.

"Paige!" he raised his voice preparatory to kicking in the door but stopped when he heard the lock of the door disengage. Still holding his gun at the ready, he opened the door carefully, scanning for any danger. His eyes found his wife sitting on the edge of the tub, her face pale. Her wide blue eyes met his then dropped to the floor. He noted her breathing, which was fast and shallow and he could see the tremors that were running through her.

"Bozhe moi! Honey are you ok?" he dropped to his knees next to her, laying the gun within easy reach if it was necessary. She shook her head and he gathered her into his arms.

"Illya." She whispered burying her face into his shoulder. He pulled off the edge of the tub and into his lap, holding her tightly as her sobs tore at his heart.

"Dushka, tell me what happened. Was it a vision?" he kept his voice soft, his concern lacing each word. He hated what her talent did to her, the way it left her an emotional wreck when it manifested. The only good thing he could attribute to its capriciousness was the fact that it had brought them together. He continued to rock her slowly and kept up the litany of comfort that he had learned over the past year would settle her down. Finally she raised her head and managed to smile rather weakly at him.

"Illyusha I'm sorry." She whispered coloring slightly. He shushed her apology and wiped the tracks from her cheeks, kissing her lightly as he did so.

"Talk to me." He exhorted. She leaned against him and snuggled into his arms.

"Lusha I have something to tell you." She brushed her lips against his ear and whispered. He pulled back and looked at his wife in shock. A vision he had expected but this… this was beyond his wildest dreams. She smiled a little uncertain, then laid his hand against her stomach. He traced the softness there and then the reality sunk in.

"A baby." He repeated dumbfounded. "Are you sure? When?" the questions tumbled out faster than he could think. Paige grinned at him.

"Mid-March. And yes I'm sure, Dr. Tabor confirmed it this morning." She bit her lip suddenly uncertain once more. "Are you upset? I know we never really talked about children…"

"Upset. Oh my wife, I am not upset." He laid his head back against the tubside. He chuckled deeply in his chest and pulled her up tighter. "I just never thought about it, Paige. But I like the idea." He spread his fingers against the place where his child was growing. His child, his wife… the words brought tears to his eyes. He bent his head and brushed his lips over hers, tasting the salt of her tears. She had thought he would be angry with her, how could he explain how this made him feel? How at last he knew that he wasn't alone anymore. He decided not to use words to show his pleasure, so what if they were late to dinner and as far as he was concerned the opera could wait.

They weren't that late to the theater, deciding to go to dinner afterward. He held her hand tightly, keeping her tucked into his side despite her gentle laughter. He couldn't explain the sudden need to wrap her in cotton but it was there. She sparkled up at him as he growled at someone who dared to jostle her during intermission. To be honest he wasn't paying any attention to the opera, his thoughts on his wife and their child. He found himself wondering about the tiny life they had created. As he watched Paige chatting with someone she had just met, discussing the diva and her talents, he was inordinately proud of his wife. He couldn't wait to share this bit of news with Napoleon, he could only imagine his partner's reaction. He stifled a shudder at the good natured teasing he was sure would follow. He made a mental note to put pressure on his father-in-law to transfer him to the inactive agent roster, he could use his talents in research. He knew that his tenure with UNCLE was contingent upon his status as an agent, but after having been with UNCLE for more than ten years, he felt confident that there wouldn't be any difficulty with Moscow. He shared a smile with Paige and made up his mind in that moment to pursue a change in his citizenship. He would start the paperwork in the morning. His child would grow up here, would never know the insecurity that he had. He joined his wife content with his course of action. Yes, he would leave Russia behind once and for all.

_December 23, 1969._

He stared at the letter in his hand, horror in his eyes. "I don't understand." He looked at Mr. Waverly for confirmation.

"It's fairly straight forward, Mr. Kuryakin." Waverly was coolly professional as he watched the color leach from his son-in-law's face. "Your petition for asylum has been denied and the Soviet Consulate has been informed of your intention to defect."

"But…"

"The state department feels that any value you had as a KGB operative is no longer sufficient to warrant your naturalization. Unfortunately your scientific credentials are also not sufficient to be of value, you haven't published anything that would justify any interest on their part." He turned his chair slightly, indicating his reluctance to continue this conversation. His discomfort failed to register with Illya.

"Sir…"

"I am sorry Mr. Kuryakin, but my hands are tied. You are to report to the Soviet Consulate where you will be taken into custody and then transported back to Moscow."

"Paige?" he whispered.

"As a citizen of the United States she will remain. Her loyalty is not in question." Waverly waved a hand toward the door. "Turn in your badge, ID and gun on your way out. Dismissed Mr. Kuryakin."

Illya had no idea how he ended up outside Del Floria's. He could scarcely believe what had just happened. UNCLE had turned its back on him, cut him free without as much as a handshake. He still held the letter from the state department in his hand and as he walked the few blocks to the apartment he shared with Paige, he crumpled the sheet of paper dropping it unnoticed onto the snowy sidewalk.

His mind already running through scenarios, plans for their disappearance foremost in his thoughts. He knew that Paige wouldn't mind leaving the streets of New York behind. Her relationship with her "family" was beyond strained and she held no loyalty toward UNCLE at all. His only concern was getting her out of here and reaching Napoleon to let him know what had happened. He didn't doubt that his partner would be on the first flight he could jump. He knew that they would have to move fast, GRU and KGB wouldn't wait, more than likely they were on their way right now. He knew what happened to agents who wanted to run, and as of right now he was top on their sanction list. Despite what the State Department believed, he had no illusions about what would happen should he be naïve enough to report to the Consulate. He would never see Moscow much less a plane. Bitterness settled into his eyes as he trotted up the steps to their apartment.

He had to give Paige credit, she listened to what he had to say and then calmly cursed her father into the Ninth Level of Hell as she began throwing clothes into suitcases. They would take only what they needed for a couple of days. He opened the small safe in which he kept his contingency plans. He had always known that the possibility of something like this happening was there, and had been prepared. It hadn't been too difficult to include Paige in these preparations. Just a few minor changes and she had a new name, passport, social security card, and driver's license. He rifled through the different IDs available before settling on several that would confuse and hopefully slow down any pursuit. He gave her a quick kiss as he passed her. She smiled tightly at him and closed the last suitcase with a snap. She watched him as he pulled the back off the wet bar and removed the stash of cash that they kept there.

"Ready?" he asked her. She slipped her arm around him and laid her head on his shoulder. He hugged her tight, fear running through him for a moment. Then he pulled back and ran his hand over her hair. "We'd better get going."

'Whither thou goest." She said repeating the vow she had given him on their wedding day. "Napoleon?"

"He'll know what to look for." He assured her. He kissed her once more and laid his hand protectively against the small protrusion that was their child. She had started to show in the past few weeks and he though she never looked more beautiful. He buttoned her coat up and opened the door for her. One quick look around the apartment, then he closed the door on his life as an UNCLE agent forever.


	7. Chapter 7

* OK, an aside here. Information included in this chapter will be canon for the Chronicles. I am giving you all the public history that Shado cooked up for herself after the escape from the military. The address in the last chapter is actually a valid address, it's the beach house where I used to live. There are a few changes, I have added the third story and removed the climb to the beach. Placing it at sea level instead of 12 feet above. Not a big difference considering there used to be days when the waves would crash against the basement door! St. Mary's in Jefferson City is one of two major hospitals there… the other being Charles E. Still hospital. CMSU is indeed located in Columbia, but NO I didn't attend it. I did grow up in central Missouri and lived in Jefferson City for a few years, so am quite familiar with the region. I also attended the Texas Ren Faire a couple of times, and was kidnapped along with my cousin by Robin Hood and his merry men… and man were they merry! The book that Napoleon mentions by name is indeed the first book in the Chronicles. Any conversations prefaced by an * from this point out are indicators of the use of one of the "talents" that this group has; the ability to communicate with out using words... not exactly telepathy but its hard to explain. Let's just say they **know** what each other is thinking.*

Illya managed to get a few hours sleep once they had gotten to Napoleon's penthouse. He had expected to be dropped off at his condo, but Napoleon had overridden his objections and had taken him home. If he was honest with himself he was grateful for the company. He was certain that the dreams would come fast and furious on this night of all nights. He really didn't want to be alone with the memories. They were hard to handle at the best of times and now with the possibility of some resolution, he knew they would be vicious. Napoleon was now sitting across from him, reclining in his seat as they taxied down the runway. He had arranged for the jet once more, not wanting to deal with the hassles of commercial flights. Illya had the sneaking suspicion that he made these arrangements more as a concession to his disability, something he was actually silently grateful for. Traveling on a commercial airline was sheer torture and he had had enough of that in his lifetime as it was.

It was the look in his partner's eyes that bothered him. He could read the unanswered questions there, the same questions that he had put off the evening before. He didn't know how he wanted to handle this; actually he did, he wanted to storm into the house where his wife was and demand that she come back to New York with him. He hadn't searched this long and hard to allow there to be any other resolution. She was his wife, dammit and he intended to remind her of that. But that was the emotional part of his psyche, the rational part, the part he knew had to be in control; that part of him would scope out the situation. If she were healthy and happy, then he would go quietly on his way, never intruding on the life he was certain she had built for herself. He wouldn't, couldn't bring that kind of pain to her. If this was indeed the case, then it would be best if he stayed out of her life. He stifled a sigh, playing martyr wasn't exactly his idea of a good time. But he could do it. And would if the role was necessary.

Napoleon, pulling the latest in intelligence from his brief case, handed it across. He had already read through it on the way from the penthouse to the airport. "The house is a beach front property owned by current New York Times bestselling author I. N. Curry. Not much is known about Curry, her books started hitting the shelves about five almost six years ago with the best seller The Edge of Night. She writes mainly sci-fi/ fantasy. Deals with the mystical, witches, warlocks, demons… that type of thing. She eschews all forms of publicity going so far as to refuse lucrative offers from all the major talk shows. She publishes one book a year, all in a series, each one hits the best seller list within days of release. Her agent is Terry Farrell, based in NY of all places. Other than that, there is very little information on Curry. Her bio reads like a press release, no known family, lives with her parrot that type of thing. Standard stuff." He indicated the short blurb on top of the stack. "No picture has ever been printed. She sued the National Enquirer a year or so back when one of the photographers managed to get a seriously bad photo from the bay looking through her patio door. You can't see anything other than a shape, but it upset her enough to sue. She has managed to keep others from trying but we aren't certain how. Going price for a good picture is somewhere around 20 grand. She carries no credit card debt, if she charges anything it's immediately paid off. Her credit history is almost nil, she drives a mid-priced older model Nissan. Doesn't seem to have any bad habits, contributes to various charities, does volunteer work at the local shelters. Votes in every election."

"Almost sounds too good to be true." Illya mused, listening to Napoleon's discourse with half an ear. He was looking at the grainy out of focus image that had sparked the lawsuit. There really wasn't too much in the picture. The railing of the deck bisected the picture, flowers in pots, some furniture all blocked the bank of windows. He could see a shape framed in what could only be the patio door but it was only an outline of a person. From what he could see of the house, it was an older construction. He couldn't see how large it was, it looked to be rather large. The patio bisected the front of the house, running the width. There was a shadowy outline recessed under the patio, giving rise to the idea that there was beach access from the lower floor. A wrought iron staircase led from the patio, down to the lower level giving access from there as well. There was another bank of windows above the second floor that could possibly be a third story or could just be the upper level to cathedral ceilings. The beach itself was level and looked to be rocky, it ran almost up to the house but there was a verge of grass where a picnic table and chairs sat. A flagpole rose from the center of a bank of bright flowers with a flag, black in color, hanging from the pole. On either side of the house he could see the edges of two other homes but nothing more. He laid the photo aside. "Nice place it looks like."

Napoleon nodded. "Yeah, from the property tax records it's valued in the six figures. Out of curiosity, I had her tax records pulled for the past ten years. The last five she has claimed income in the high five figure range from the book sales, evidently she negotiated quite well when she signed with the publisher. She also has income from some investments, Microsoft, Nintendo those types of things. She had some interesting deductions, she keeps a home office, and the phone line is strictly business, verified in an audit last year. She travels quite a bit, claims its research for the books also verified during the audit. She only claims the 10% charity deduction although she contributes a lot more than that. No dependents listed but she does file as married but separated, which puts her in a higher tax bracket. Prior to the publishing contract, she lists her employment as a personal assistant to a well-known actor. That employment lasted for about three years then came the contract. Before that, she filed as a student." Napoleon raised his glass and took a sip. "According to records, she was born May 23, 1954 to Robert and Alice Townsend at St. Mary's Hospital, Jefferson City Missouri. She attended Central Missouri State University at Columbia, English major and drama minor. She was an average student, acted in a few plays, worked her way through school by working at the Texas Renaissance Festival and a few others. I asked Karen to look for any photos that the collegiate database might have, but there weren't any. They hadn't switched to computers for student files until after she had left the university." He let his train of thought taper off. Illya closed the file and stared out the window for a moment.

"There really is no way of knowing if it's her or not." He whispered. "We both know how easy it is to change records, despite computers."

"I know tovarisch. If it isn't Paige, then maybe this Mrs. Curry can tell us where she found the communicator. At least then we might have a direction to look in. If not," he shrugged, "we really aren't any worse off than we were before."

"No, we aren't." They both fell silent, each lost in thoughts best left alone for the remainder of the flight.

_Federal Way._

Keeper frowned at the work men as they carried supplies up to the attic. He wasn't overly impressed with the fact that they had come over an hour late and didn't seem to be too concerned about that fact. They hadn't offered any explanation or apology, instead the work boss seemed rather amused when confronted by the issue. He made a mental note to NOT hire this firm again. He had sent Gem upstairs with them, since access to the attic was through Shado's room. He hadn't really thought about it when deciding to do the remodel, it was something that Faln mentioned on her way out the door. Already feeling a bit guilty for snooping, they had agreed that someone would keep an eye on the rest of her things while the workmen were around. Now, he could hear their footsteps over the kitchen and back part of the house, and with the acoustics their voices echoed eerily in the bedrooms there. It wasn't too difficult to keep track of them so he and Gem were sitting at the kitchen table, playing rummy until the girls got home from classes.

By tacit agreement they weren't discussing the mysterious husband and history they were trying to fill in. That would also wait until the girls got home. Keeper hadn't heard from his PD contact yet anyway, so there really wasn't anything to discuss. None of the other internet searches had yielded anything. So in effect, they were stymied until inspiration hit, that or until Brit or Faln managed to get a "hit" in the psychometric department. Shado hadn't checked in, but they really weren't expecting her too. Her itinerary had her locked into some sort of seminar for most of the day, both Keeper and Gem could almost hear her bitching from New York. Her irritation was clear enough through the connection that bound them all together. Privately he was grateful that she was so irritated, it would keep her from picking up on their guilt and curiosity, two things that were guaranteed to have her on the first plane back.

During the morning meditations, an exercise they continued even when apart, they each had heard her quite clearly complaining about the rotten coffee and breakfast buffet provided by the hotel. Keeper felt mildly concerned about her safety in the Big Apple, it would be easy for her to be targeted by the Dark while apart from the Circle. He was confident that she could handle the normal crap that usually cropped up, but what about the abnormal stuff? He frowned at the card Gem discarded and then drew from the stack.

"You're worried about her." Gem stated. He selected his next card, laid down three of a kind and discarded, only to frown when Keeper picked up the discard pile.

"Yes and no. Yes I'm worried that something will happen. Face it, it always does. No matter which of us is alone. And no, because I think she can take care of herself. I just wish she wouldn't play Captain Kirk so much. If something does target her, you know she won't call for help, no matter how big and bad it is." He laid down a four card straight, shuffling the cards in his hand with a frown. "She's too much of a mother hen and you know it."

"She is, I agree." He drew and then with a grin laid down another trio and discarded his last card. "Rummy."

"Prick." Keeper muttered as he began to tally and deduct point for the cards he was caught with. "I know she can, but that doesn't mean that I have to like it. I wish she would quit sheltering us."

"Um, Keeper, she only does it when its stuff we can't handle ourselves." Gem reminded his card partner grimly. "Otherwise, we are on our own."

"I just don't get it. We all got zapped at the same time, how come her control is so much better? I haven't been able to figure that one out."

"You ever talk to her about that? You know, go to the source instead of just bitching about it?" Gem finished his tally. "115 points."

Keeper growled and wrote it down. "-65 for a total of 45, Yeah, all she did was stare into space for a moment and mutter something about years of practice. Then she went all mystical with that Grasshopper stuff."

"Grasshopper stuff?"

"You know. Snatch the pebble from my hand, Grasshopper… Karate Kid quotes."

"Ah, don't ya just hate those?" Gem dealt another hand. They played in silence a bit longer. He started to say something when the peal of the doorbell interrupted them. He looked at Keeper, question in his eyes. "You expecting anyone else?"

"No. You?"

"Nope."


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

The area they were driving through was scenic to say the least. The car made its way down an incredibly steep hill, hair pin turns hiding the sight of the bay on their right while on the left the steep hillside hid houses perched precariously over the view. The road itself was narrow, almost too narrow for the flow of traffic and a couple of times Illya thought they might be sideswiped by an oncoming car. Napoleon had the same thoughts as they made their way around yet another narrow turn to see the bay spread in its glory before them.

The steep incline gave way to the flat of bayside driving and they had to admit the area was stunning. The water, merely ten feet from the car, lapped at the shoreline breakwater with an island in the distance. The tide was in, hiding what had to be a wonderful beach expanse, but even so, it was a beautiful area. There was a stop sign that had them halting for no apparent reason, except that it allowed foot traffic into the small pier restaurant on their right. The restaurant apparently was a popular one from the amount of cars in the parking area on the left. There was a block of apartments just past the restaurant then homes situated on the same side of the street told the story of early fishing cottages and beach front get-a-ways.

"Reminds me of the Cape." Napoleon muttered as they crept along the road. Illya contented himself with watching the number of people who seemed to be intent on punishing their bodies by jogging along the bay side boardwalk. He could see the curve of beach at the end of the boardwalk, leading toward the rounded tip of the landmass that was Federal Way. He could also make out homes along this stretch of beach, some with direct access, others with stairs leading down the rocky expanse. There were several small floating docks in the water, a few held cormorants worshipping the sun as it peeked between clouds.

He recognized their strange stance from his days in the Navy, a smile crossing his face at the odd sight. As the car powered its way around one more sharp turn, this one leading away from the water, it began another steep climb. They had only gone a short distance when the driver turned sharply to his right onto another street. The car slowed as they realized they were nearing their destination. Ruling out the homes on the left, since it was obvious none of them had beach access, their attention was firmly riveted on the homes on the right. The first few they dismissed as too far from the water, but as they passed a couple of blocks, it became apparent that the house they were looking for was not to be easily found.

The driver slowed even further as they neared the final curve of the street. There was a stand of trees blocking the view of a driveway that for all intents and purposes led straight down, with a small home situated on its edge. From the address of the smaller beach home, they knew that the one they sought was the one at the end of the drive. Their driver, without being told, parked the car, letting it idle as Illya looked at the shaded and shadowy driveway. The car stopped at the end of the long drive, halting in front of a bank of garage doors. There was a walkway leading around the side of the building, obviously to the "front door". A van, a contractor's from the lettering on the side, was parked to the side, so that it didn't block the garage. There was a row of pines providing some semblance of privacy and as they got out of the car, the smell of sea water mixed with the smell of pine into a pleasant aroma. They could hear the sound of the surf rolling against the rocky beach and the occasional cry of a gull riding the thermals.

"Very nice." Napoleon said softly taking a deep breath. He pulled his shades out of his breast pocket and slipped them on, hiding his eyes. Then with a quirk of his head, indicated that they should follow the path. Illya led the way, taking in the home they were walking up to.

There really wasn't much to see at this point, just the side of the garage and as they turned the corner, the path led downward a bit. The garage segued into the house as the cliff became apparent, the house it seemed was much larger than he had anticipated from the bay side photo. The front door, was actually located on the second story, the first falling at the beach level. For a total of three stories. The walkway ended at a cut glass door with an odd design etched into it. At first he couldn't make it out, but as he looked at it, a dragon entwined in a pentagram became clear. Standing in front of the door, he felt the first pangs of uncertainty take hold and he hesitated. Napoleon, understanding his partner as he always did laid a hand on his shoulder in silent support.

"It's not too late, tovarich." He whispered, meaning they could leave and no one would ever know they had come. Or, Illya thought, it's not too late for hope. He raised his hand and rang the doorbell…

The peal of the doorbell again had them moving down the hallway to the front door. Keeper took point as usual, Gem following close behind, he could just make out two silhouettes through the frosted glass of the door. It could be several different things, someone looking for the work crew, a neighbor needing something, or heaven forbid the press looking for Shado. But not far from their minds was the last and most dangerous possibility- the military. Just because they had managed to hide thus far didn't mean they would be able to forever. It was something they all knew and accepted, but still the peal of the doorbell had tensions rising. Out of habit, they made sure the glamour cantrip** was in place and Gem sent out a tendril of power to *read* their guests. He frowned slightly. He could read unease but nothing else.

*Keeper.* he warned on their private channel. Keeper acknowledged the warning and stopped just inside the hallway. He also went looking but met with the same difficulty. Something was blocking them. *Could be natural.* Keeper mused. *Feels that way.* Satisfied for the moment, he opened the door.

Two older men in their mid-fifties stood there. The taller of the duo had thick salt and pepper hair and wore a suit that Keeper knew cost a bundle. His body posture was relaxed but the aura of poised danger was palpable. With the opening of the door he had shifted position slightly to shelter the shorter man behind him. It was an action that spoke of years of protection and they doubted that he was even aware of it. His dark eyes registered a momentary surprise but that faded to be replaced by a suave, charming smile. The second silhouette resolved itself into a slender form. Silvering blond hair framed a lean face and winter sea eyes raked them from head to toe, leaving a touch of ice down their spines. Where the first had an aura of cloaked danger, this one wore it as armor. Of the two, Keeper would say the blond was the more lethal of them both. The blond shifted his weight slightly to the left, bringing his right side out of the shelter of his partner, coincidentally freeing his aim if it was needed. The movement drew the *boys'* eyes to the silver metal gleam at his side.

*Oh shit.* Keeper muttered. They needed no introduction. Although time's passage had left its mark both Gem and Keeper knew who stood on their doorstep. Illya Kuryakin and his partner Napoleon Solo. He sent a curse winging toward the fickle fates, it seemed the past had come to call.

Illya hadn't know what to expect when the door finally opened. It surely wasn't the sight of two teenagers. He placed their ages at close to twenty if not in the first year of that decade. He felt his heat lurch as he did the math and realized that one or both of these kids might be Paige's son/s, or, his throat tightened for a moment, theirs. He let his eyes roam over them both registering their faces. The taller of the two was a blond, his hair the dark color of honey, his eyes were a shade of hazel with a slight gold cast to them. His facial features were lean and to be honest Illya couldn't see any resemblance to Paige or himself in the boy. The other, positioned further back in the hallway was more difficult to see. Also a blond, his eye color was a darker hazel with green Illya could see, he also appeared to be the same age as the first boy. There was some resemblance between the two marking them as siblings. Twins? He wondered. They are the right age. Could it be? The questions whirled in his mind. He forced his emotions back into their box and shifted his stance. Despite his desire, there was always the possibility of disappointment. His slight movement brought their eyes from Napoleon's smiling face back to him.

*Keeper, we are in SOOO much kim-chee.* Gem groaned.

"May I help you?" Keeper asked. *Yep we certainly are.*

"I'm not certain that we have the correct address." Napoleon answered smoothly. "We are looking for the Curry residence?" He kept his no-threat-here smile firmly in place. He didn't need to be a mind reader to know where his partner's thoughts were headed. He was having some of the same ones. 'Easy Illya, just take it easy.'

Keeper moved to block the doorway, registering the tension that was rising in the dangerous blond. Something was going on and he wasn't sure exactly what it was. *Follow my lead. Gem* he warned. He crossed his arms belligerence in his stance. "Yeah you got the right place. Whatcha want?"

"We would like to speak with Mrs. Curry please." Napoleon requested treading carefully. There was something slightly off with these two. He couldn't put his finger on it, but he could tell from his partner's stance that he was also picking it up. Illya had moved to the left a bit further, enabling a clear shot if it was needed. The hostility from the two teens increased.

"She don't talk to no reporters. I'm going to ask you to leave." Keeper said.

"Yeah, Mom don't talk to no reporters." Gem backed Keeper up moving to stand next to him. "You wanna talk to her, call Terry Farrell and set up an appointment like everybody else."

His words had Illya's tension level ratcheting up another notch. Napoleon with years of practice knew that his partner was rapidly approaching the point of no return. 'Breathe, tovarich. Just breathe.' He willed more control to his partner.

*Gem get hold of the girls, let them know what's going on. Tell them to be prepared to run if we have to.* he gave the silent order. *Things might get ugly.*

*Gotcha. She is going to kill us isn't she?* he asked splitting his attention in order to contact the girls. *She loves this house.*

*We'll deal with it. Question is, how did they find us?*

*I'm betting a flag on the good Doctor's file.*

*If he's a scientist, I'm Madonna's latest boyfriend.* Keeper observed.

"My name is Napoleon Solo and this is Illya Kuryakin. We are not with the press believe me." Napoleon forced himself to relax even further, hoping to dispel the tension in the air. He fished his ID out of his breast pocket and handed it to the suspicious young man. The kid took it and opened the case, he read it and handed it off.

*O Buddy, I think we have found UNCLE.*

*Rather they found us.*

Napoleon continued, forming their cover story on the fly. "We work for an organization that specializes in tracking missing persons."

*Coincidence?* Gem asked relaying their conversation to the girls on a different level.

*Who knows? We are definitely considered missing and on several top ten lists of the most wanted. Tell the girls to get ready to run.* Keeper handed the wallet back to Solo. "So, Mom ain't missing."

"You all some kinda cops or something?" Gem added to keep up his end of the conversation.

"More like private detectives." Napoleon lied smoothly. "We are looking for information in the disappearance of someone that your mother might have attended the university with."

"Mom knows lots of people." Keeper hedged. Could it be possible that they didn't know?

"Please, may we speak with her?" Illya spoke for the first time. "It is very important." He pulled out his wallet and carefully removed the worn black and white photo, his only one, of his wife. He handed it to the boys. "We only want to know if she remembers anything about this woman. Any information she might have could be of the greatest value."

Keeper accepted the photo. He ran his eyes over the twenty year old wedding portrait of Shado in her dress smiling up at camera. "Never seen her before. Who was she?"

"Her name is Paige Kuryakinova. She is-was my wife. She vanished a few years ago and I have been searching for her. New information brought us here to talk to your mother."

*Keeper, the girls are just about ten minutes away. Want them to stop? Or come on home?* Gem asked.

*Come on home.*

"We think that Dr. Kuryakinova may have contacted your mother before her disappearance." Napoleon added picking up on Illya's intent easily.

*They're fishing.* Gem said.

*They don't have a clue.* Keeper agreed. *We'll have to be careful, but let's follow this through and see what happens.*

"Well, Mom isn't here right now." Keeper said handing the photo back. "She's on a business trip, won't be back until next week." He almost smiled at the expression of disappointment both men tried to hide. "But we might be able to help. We was moving some stuff from the attic and found a box that got sent to Mom a few years back. I remember that it upset her when she opened it." He hedged with just enough truth to make it believable. Shado would be upset when she found out they had opened it.

Napoleon glanced at the set face of his partner. "Could we possibly see the box?"

"Dunno. Mom gets rather funny about people snooping in her stuff." Keeper scratched his chin in thought. "Tell you what. I'll call Mom, tell her what you all want and if she says ok- then you can look through the box."

*Gem, tell Brit to get ready.*

*She's cool. They are waiting at Salty's. She knew you would play the phone card.*

Keeper stood to one side and motioned the two men inside. "Come on in. I'll call Mom, she should be able to field a call."

As they followed their host into the house, both Napoleon and Illya used their skills to check the place out. They could hear conversations taking place somewhere over their head, and Illya guessed that it must be the contractors that had left the van out front. The hall was relatively empty, instead of pictures on the light sage walls, there hung a large dream catcher on the right side about halfway down. It was about four feet in diameter, black suede wrapped the hoop and sinew created the web. The feathers sculpting the base were peacock and at their longest they almost drug the floor. There was a single fetish in the center, at first glance it appeared to be a black semi-circle, but as he passed it, he caught the sheen of a dark rainbow across it.

On the opposite wall, between two doors was a small glass shelf. A small jade statuette graced the shelf, a Chinese Imperial dragon, his mind supplied the identification as he noted the five toes. Something about the statue caught and held his attention and he paused to take a closer look. It was only five inches tall, the dragon crouched in a watchful yet slightly threatening pose. One of its forefeet was raised and a small brass bell hung suspended from its grasp. The detail was extraordinary, its carnelian eyes seemed to glitter with an inner light and he felt drawn to it.

"Mom collects dragons." Keeper said. He was intrigued by the reaction the blond was having. Most people passed the dragon by with barely a second glance, yet this stranger had stopped. He could tell that this action had also caught the attention of the guardian. *Gem be extra careful, the Dr. appears to be a sensitive. He's noticed the guardian and it's definitely interested in him as well.*

"A very beautiful piece." Illya murmured and continued down the hall. He had the strangest feeling that the statue preened at his words. He shook off the feeling. Behind him, Keeper brushed his finger over the dragon as it turned its head to follow the blond. It winked at Keeper and grinned slightly.

The hall led into a good sized kitchen, the remains of a card game lay spread across a small table there. Napoleon quirked an eyebrow and smothered a grin. Looks like they had interrupted a marathon card game. Through the arched door they found themselves in the main part of the house. Along the front of the room was a solid bank of windows overlooking the deck and the bay beyond. In the opposite corner from the kitchen was a small work area, a computer and stacks of papers claimed its use as a home office. It was backed by a staircase leading down to the lowest level, he guessed.

The room was spacious, a small pit grouping created the seating along the dividing wall. It wasn't until they were completely into the room that they realized that the "wall" that divided the room was in actuality a massive reef tank. Colorful saltwater fish swam around the coral and darted between the anemones there. A rough estimate put the size at over 1000 gallons.

"Very nice." Napoleon offered as he looked into the tank. Gem paused and grinned.

"It's a hobby." he said. He lounged against the arm of the futon next to the aquarium. Keeper went to the desk and picked up the phone. He dialed Brit's cell number and waited until she answered. A few moments of conversation, of which they could hear bits and pieces from the other end and he then hung up.

"Well, I guess you heard her. Sokay if we let you all see what's in the box. She says that she doesn't know if it will help or not but you are welcome to look." He turned to them. "Why don't ya have a seat and I'll go bring it up from the basement." He waited until they made themselves comfortable then motioned for Gem to follow him. *The girls will be here in a minute. Help me stall them. Faln wants to try to push them to tell us what happened.*

*I don't know if that's smart or not. Have you noticed how the guardians are reacting to them?* Gem said as they headed down the stairs. *I'm not so sure that leaving them alone is a good idea either. Something is off about those two.*

Keeper grinned. *Yeah I know. But you got any other ideas. It's not like they are going to tell us anything without some help.*

"You get the feeling we're being watched?" Napoleon leaned close to his partner. The hairs on the back of his neck had been dancing like crazy since they had entered the house.

"Something is not what it seems, Napoleon." Illya agreed. He looked around the room. There were statues of dragons everywhere and he could swear that their jeweled eyes were staring at him. It was a decidedly uncomfortable sensation. "I don't know what it is, but..." he shrugged slightly. He couldn't put this feeling into words, but all his instincts said that he was right.

"I know tovarich. I know." Napoleon looked around the room warily. They could hear the sounds of the work crew coming from the upper level, the banging of something being moved around and the dull thump of a staple gun. He flinched slightly and shifted. "I don't think its trouble, but you never know."

"Those two- they don't act like they should." Illya said thoughtfully.

"Just be ready for anything." Napoleon cautioned. "Someone activated that communicator, and I'm betting it was one of those two."

"Accident? Or do you think they know?" his suspicions were running crazy. It wouldn't be too farfetched for this to be a trap of some sort. Both of them made excellent targets and the list of their enemies was quite long. The sound of the garage door opening had them both standing, hands on their guns as they listened. Three female voices came from behind the fireplace where another hall was situated.

The voices preceded the appearance of three twenty something women. The first of which was a short dark haired girl in a pair of ragged jeans and a UW sweatshirt. She carried a backpack in one hand and stopped short when she saw them.

"Whoa. Didn't know we had company." She said startled. "Where are Mark and Greg?" she asked. Her companions were also carrying back packs and a stack of books. The tallest of them, another blonde, moved around her and dropped her pack on the floor next to the stairs.

"They went downstairs." Napoleon said smiling warmly at the girls.

"Heya, my name's Tricia." The tall blonde said holding out her hand. She smiled at them.

"Hello Tricia. I'm Napoleon Solo and this is my partner Illya Kuryakin." He replied taking her hand. He placed a smooth kiss on her fingertips and smiled at her. Illya restrained his impulse to roll his eyes and instead inclined his head in greeting.

"Very smooth." Tricia said softly a faint blush on her face.

"If you like older men." The shorter girl said. "I'm Natalie. And this is Karen." She pulled the other girl to the front. She was medium height with light brown hair and blue eyes. "Is Napoleon really your name? Man I bet you hated that as a kid, huh?"

"Oh, it had its moments." Napoleon replied.

"You all the press?" Karen/Brit asked slightly hostile. *Watch it Faln.* she warned. *Remember who these guys might be.*

*Yeah, yeah I know.* Faln/Tricia said and smiled at Napoleon. He was really rather good looking, for an older guy.

"No we aren't the press." Napoleon said smoothly.

"Friends of Mom's then?" She asked playing along.

"Not exactly. We're here looking for information about someone that she may have gone to the university with."

"Wow, that was like, forever ago." Natalie said faking awe.

*I'm going to tell Shado that you said that, Mage.* Brit threatened.

*PFFFTTTT* Mage/Natalie blew a raspberry.

_Mid-afternoon New York City_

Shado moved slowly down the side walk of a street that she thought she would never set foot on again. The area had changed in twenty years, but that was to be expected. She could hardly hope to see Del Floria's in the same place after all. The old tailor shop was gone, in its place a night club now resided. Part of her was glad, another part infinitely saddened by the loss. She stood looking at the garish neon pink sign proclaiming the name of the establishment COCKTAILS. She shook her head. The old neighborhood had definitely changed. In some ways the changes were for the better but it was still hard to lay such a large part of her life to rest. She looked to the east reluctant to take the steps to the darkest of her memories.

A warm breeze ruffled her hair. *Why do you feel so sad?* the soft words of the avatar ran over her mind.

*It is painful.* she hunched her shoulders and began walking, her fists shoved into the light weight jacket she wore against the spring chill.

*Why? Did you not have happy times here?*

*Yes. But the pain far outweighs the happiness.* she whispered.

*Why?* She kicked at a piece of paper laying crumpled on the sidewalk causing it to skitter ahead of her steps. There were times when her avatar seemed to be three years old rather than a millennia. *Why do you remember the pain but not the happiness?* the avatar asked again. She kicked at the paper wad again, this time it bounced against the grill work of a lamppost.

*I don't know. I just do.* She stopped and leaned against the post for a second. Then idly she bent down and picked up the wad of crumpled paper. Her eyes were focused on something in the distance as she began to fiddle with it. *I think it's because the pain of the bad memories is easier for me to live with than the pain of remembering things that I'll never have again.* She fell silent lost in her thoughts. Her fingers began to straighten out the paper as she tried to put her feelings into words that the avatar would understand. Finally she shrugged giving it up as a lost cause. She held the paper up to see what it was she was playing with expecting a play bill or advertisement. As she read the contents her blood turned to ice.

_December 19, 1969._

_Dear Dr. Kuryakin,_

_It is with regret that I must inform you of the decision reached on your petition for citizenship. Your petition received every consideration. While your service record as an operative with the Soviet government would normally merit interest that record ended in the last decade. Your service record with the organization U.N.C.L.E. has been impeccable, however as you well know, it is not a record that would be of any viable value to the United States government. The same may be said of the academic credentials that you have been accredited with. It is most unfortunate that there is no record of any published works accredited in your name._

_While your service has been deeply appreciated by U.N.C.L.E., this office has been informed that the current policies of the aforementioned organization do not allow for sponsorship of resident aliens for citizenship status._

_The United States, therefore, regrets to inform you that your petition for citizenship has been denied. You are asked to report to the Soviet Embassy for immediate deportation. Your visa has been summarily revoked and the permit issued allowing the possession of a firearm has also been terminated. You have 24 hours from the receipt of this letter to comply with these instructions, after which time, the INS will be informed and you will be considered an illegal alien._

_Sincerely,_

_John N. Mitchell_

_Office of the United States Attorney General_

_John N. Mitchell/ddj_

Shado collapsed back against the lamppost her knees too weak to support her weight. She squeezed her eyes shut and then opened them. The words type written on the paper, hadn't changed. *Phoenix?* she questioned the avatar, for there was not a doubt in her mind that this was the workings of the capricious avatar.

*Sometimes it is better to face the pain than to hide from it.* the avatar spoke softly. The air seemed suddenly too thick to breathe and Shado pushed against the pain it caused.

*Easy for you to say.* she muttered. *If you don't mind, I think I have had enough of your little games for the rest of the day. I'm going back to the hotel and getting wonderfully plastered. Then I'm going to join Terry and have the time of my life.* She crumpled up the letter from the past and tossed it into the gutter. It lay there soaking up the water for a moment, then slowly it dissolved into nothing. The sigh of the avatar gusted the trash littering the sidewalk.

"Sometimes, humans don't really know what's good for them." The avatar thought as its student determinedly walked away from the past. It cocked its head, suddenly aware of ripples from _elsewhere_. A feeling of satisfaction filled it and it returned to the Astral.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

_West Coast, same day._

Illya looked at the group of young people that was now clustered around the mysterious box. He wondered not for the first time, just who these kids were. Something wasn't quite right, but he couldn't put a name or face to the inconsistency. The elder boy, Mark, didn't quite act like the early twenty something he was. There was a bit of steel in his voice at times, and the others deferred to him more often than not. He caught Napoleon's eyes reading in them the same questions he had. There was more here than met the eye, thirty years of being in the Game told them that. Illya forced a small smile at the youngest of the group, Tricia as she handed him a glass of tea.

*Keeper, we need to be really careful.* Mage said as she handed the tea she was carrying to Dr. Kuryakin. *I think they are getting suspicious.*

Keeper, watching the men, agreed. *I think you are right. Let's get this over with and see what we can learn from them. Faln, can you handle a little push?*

*Sure thing, boss. Shouldn't be too difficult to give them a push to talk.* she gave a mental grin. *I'll be careful too, don't worry. They won't know what has hit them.* They could feel her gather a small bit of power and send it to wind around the consciousness of their guests. *Hmm. Ok, well, it seems that the good Dr, is a bit sensitive.* she observed. He had shivered slightly as the power had settled into place, looking around to see where the draft might have come from. *Just means I'll have to be even more careful than I thought. But still no problem.*

Keeper restrained the urge to grin as he felt the power settle around their guests, he could see them relax and knew that it was indeed working. He pulled the first item out of the box, the photo album and handed it to Kuryakin.

Illya held in his hands the battered and aged photo album that had been the treasured possession of his wife, Pagan, known as Paige. He caressed the cover lightly, memories swamping him as he opened the book. A small smile crossed his face as he looked at his younger self, he shook his head.

"This was so long ago." He said softly, turning another page. A chuckle escaped him as he looked at himself and Napoleon toasting the New Year, a "body" lay between them, a toe tag reading THRUSH hung limply from the big toe. "I remember how pissed off Mark was when he drew the short straw. Remember Napoleon?"

Napoleon looked over his shoulder at the picture and grinned. "I thought April was going to bust a gut laughing at his face when she tied the toe tag on."

"That was New Year's Eve, 1969." He turned another page. "Paige always had a camera with her, no matter where she went, what she was doing." He closed his eyes for a moment and took a visible effort to calm himself.

"On the wedding invitation, the name is Pagan Michelle, but you call her Paige?" Gem asked. They weren't certain which questions to ask, having so many, and weren't sure if the push would get the answers they wanted.

Napoleon nodded, speaking for his friend. "She hated the name Pagan, and forget trying to call her Michelle. Illya and I managed a workable compromise with her in the name Paige. Only we were allowed to call her that." His shoulders tightened as Illya removed the invitation from the album. His friend's hands shook and he could see the tears he was trying so hard to contain. Illya carefully opened it, and ducked his head.

"This was the happiest day of my life." He whispered. "She was everything to me." His shoulders shook for a moment. Mage and Faln shared a glance, then Mage opened the box in which the remainder of the past was kept. She pulled the reel of film from it and leaned toward Illya.

Illya recoiled as if he had been shot. His face paled and he shook his head. "Nyet, I don't think I can."

"It's ok, partner. You don't have to." Napoleon said softly. He laid his hand on Illya's knee. He looked at the offered film for a long moment. Mage without speaking placed the film back into the box. It didn't take a genius to know that this was very hard on the blond. His pain and anguish was easy to see and to read.

"I am sorry." Illya whispered refolding the invitation, he placed it back into the album and closed the book. For a moment, his hands lingered on the cover, then he handed it back to Mage. "Thank you for letting me see it. It means a lot to me to know that it still exists. I had thought it long gone."

Another look passed between the younger group, and Keeper picked up the shoebox. "This was also in the box we found." He said. "We weren't sure what some of these things were."

Napoleon grinned as he lifted the communicator out of the box. He handed it to Illya. "I think you lost this somewhere, didn't you?" He frowned at the sight of Illya's custom Walther and the wallet containing his UNCLE ID.

"I turned those in the day I left UNCLE." Illya said confused. He took the Walther from the box. "I gave them to Mr. Waverly personally. I don't understand."

"Looks like one more mystery in a long line of mysteries." Napoleon added. "I doubt we ever know exactly what happened." He laid the wallet back in the box and slid the lid onto it. "You said that this was sent to your Mom a couple years ago?" At their nods he tapped his fingers against the box.

"Well we think it was. We found it day before yesterday when we cleaned out the attic." Keeper prevaricated. He wasn't about to tell him that the stuff belonged to Shado, not when he didn't quite trust their story. They hadn't remained free this long without learning to be wary. "We thought that it might have been a package that Mom had gotten a few years back. We never actually saw the package itself. She just mentioned getting something from an old friend." Not exactly a lie, he thought. None of them had seen it before.

Illya looked at the album lost in thought for a moment. He made an effort to pull himself together. Idly his hand traced the album once more. With an effort he handed it to Mage. "Napoleon, it is time for us to go home." He pulled his crutch upright, preparatory to standing.

"Wait, please." Faln said her voice cracking. The most sensitive of the group, the sadness and despair gripping the older man was eating at her. "Please, we need to know. To understand. It's obvious that you loved her."

Illya shook his head. "There is nothing to tell. Times change and it is time to let the past go." He stood slowly leaning heavily on the crutch that had become a part of his life that night twenty years ago.

"Dr. Kuryakin, please." Faln whispered, giving more power to her push. They needed to know, and if it meant using more power on him, then she would. Keeper again sent her a warning to go carefully, these men weren't like most. There was something about them that screamed danger. Illya hesitated then collapsed slowly back into the sofa he had been sitting on.

"Really, there is not much to tell." his voice was distant, his Russian accent increasing as he succumbed to the subtle push that she had placed in her voice. Napoleon laid a comforting hand on his friend's shoulder. He squeezed lightly lending his support as always.

_The Massachusetts countryside, December 25, 1969._

_Illya held his wife gently as she slept, his blue eyes scanned the motel room they were in. He didn't know if they had been followed or not, the snow storm that had forced them to seek shelter had also made it difficult for him to spot a tail. He was worried, he knew that at some point in time, whether now or in the future, the odds were good that they would be found. Waverly wouldn't take to kindly to his daughter disappearing along with his ex-agent. Silently he cursed the fates that had sent them fleeing into the night. Paige stirred restlessly against him, burying her face deeper into his shoulder. Tenderly he brushed the hair back from her face, tracing the outline of her jaw with his fingertips. She sighed and settled back into sleep. It would be time to wake her soon, the storm had stopped an hour before, and they needed to be on the road as soon as they could, but for now she needed her sleep. His lips curled into a soft smile as he felt the curve of their child against his hip._

_It was over an hour before she stirred again, this time opening her eyes. She snuggled into his neck and kissed him gently just below his ear._

_"Did you get any sleep?" she asked, her voice husky with sleep._

_ "Enough." He kissed the top of her head. "Good morning." She pulled back and looked into his face._

_"You didn't sleep." She ran a finger along his lower lip. "I can tell."_

_"I did. Just not very long." He smiled at her. He loved the way she looked first thing in the morning. Her hair was a riot of curls around her face, sleep lines marring her pale skin. Her eyes were slightly puffy and still sleep reddened. "You are so beautiful." He kissed her._

_"You, Dr. Kuryakin, need to wear your glasses." She snorted. She reached across him and picked up the reading glasses he had placed on the night stand. With a grin, she slid them onto his nose. "See, not so beautiful now."_

_"Nope. Not beautiful, gorgeous." He grinned. Their usual morning routine lent some semblance of sanity to a suddenly insane life. She groaned and flopped onto her back. She laid there for a moment before speaking again._

_"Dushka, they will find us, won't they?"_

_He considered for a moment telling her that there was nothing they needed to worry about but decided to be honest. "It is a possibility, lyubimyj."_

_"Then we had better get moving hadn't we?" she said softly._

"They were waiting for us when we left the room. There were eight of them. Too many to fight and win, not with Paige and the baby to consider." Illya stared at his hands, laying in his lap. "I fought though, fought as hard as I could. She did too. They hadn't considered that she might be dangerous as well." He smiled at the memory of his petite wife taking down one of the KGB goons. "We actually had a chance, until she slipped on the ice. She fell and one of them grabbed her, put his gun to her head."

_"Comrade Kuryakin you will come with us, or your pretty American wife will die here." The sight of the gun held to her temple froze his blood, and he dropped his attacker immediately._

_Slowly he raised his hands. "Just let her go and I'll come with you."_

_"Illyusha no." Paige croaked. The fall had knocked the wind out of her and the goon's arm across her throat made it difficult to breathe. She could feel the tightness in her chest as she struggled for breath. The ape holding her chuckled_.

_"Now comrade, why would we do that? I think that if I keep her, you will give no more trouble, da?"_

_One of the operatives yanked his hands down and cuffed them behind his back. He winced at the tightness knowing that soon he would lose the feeling in his hands from it. Damn, Napoleon, now would be a good time for you to come to the rescue. He thought, but knowing that this time, rescue would be too late, he quashed the whimsy. He locked his eyes on those of his terrified wife._

_"I will come with you. Just let her go."_

_"Oh, I think not, comrade. An execution demands a witness after all, does it not, Comrade Kuryakin?"_

_"God, no!" Paige cried. "No, please." She struggled against the arm that held her pinned to his chest and he tightened it again, cutting off her air._

_"Be still or I will kill you now American or not." He hissed into her ear loud enough for Illya to hear._

_"Paige, metya. Enyala lapse. Laume macatien." Illya called to his wife, hoping that she would understand. As a joke they had been studying the language created by her favorite author, Tolkien. Now it was the only one he could guarantee their captors wouldn't understand. He breathed a sigh of relief as she ceased her struggles and sagged against the goon holding her. Her blue eyes, wide and frightened stared into his, tears forming in them. They were the last thing he saw as the man behind him pulled a black hood over his head._

"One of them hit me with something then. When I came to, I was on a transport plane back to Moscow. Paige wasn't there. No one would tell me anything. I begged, pleaded for them to tell me if she was all right. I didn't know if they had left her or if she was on another plane headed to Siberia. Or," he shivered. "If they shot her anyway." He fell silent for a moment, then looked at the young faces watching him. Tears were in their eyes and he felt the burn of his own yet again. "I still don't know what happened to her. I have been looking for answers for twenty years."

"But you are here now?" Keeper asked Illya.

"That's because I have a stubborn partner. I was sent to Siberia after a time. Somehow, Napoleon learned where I had been taken but it was two years before he could 'liberate' me from the work camp." Illya grimaced. "I was lucky. Many that were sent to that particular camp didn't last a week."

"Not lucky enough, tovarich." Napoleon muttered. His guilt still ate at him. "I should have known something was wrong, should have come back earlier. I should have been there to help you."

"Should have, would have, could have, tovarich. You came. And I am here now." Illya smiled at his partner, the shadows in his eyes deep at the remembered incarceration. "It does not matter, not really."

Keeper stared into space for a moment. On their *private* communication line he asked each of his friends the same question. *Do we tell him?*

The answers were unanimous *YES.*

*I'll call her first. Tell her to come home.*

*Don't tell her Keeper, we don't know how she'll react.* Faln warned. He thought quickly, then agreed. This was something that would be best handled in person.

"Gentlemen, we may not have your answers but we know someone who does." He said at last. "There is one person who can tell you what happened to your wife and child."

"You know where she is don't you?" Napoleon asked softly hoping he was reading the faces in front of him correctly. He noticed the changes in the group and wondered if Illya could sense it as well. Illya flinched and paled.

"We have our suspicions." Keeper raised a hand to stop their questions. "The thing is, if what we suspect is right, there is a chance that she won't want to see you. Are you prepared for that? Will you let that decision stand?"

"Da." Illya said without hesitation. "If that is what she wishes." Hope flared in his eyes but was tamped down. Faln, keeping an *eye* on him, nodded to Keeper. He was telling the truth.

"Excuse me for a moment, gentlemen. I have a phone call to make."


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

They heard the garage door open and the sound of footsteps in the hall. Illya held his breath as she rounded the corner of the fireplace, bag in hand. He felt recognition slam into him knocking the breath out of his chest. She had changed but not that much. Gone was the bounce in her step, she moved now with feral grace. She was aging beautifully. Her hair was much longer now, the curls he had loved so well pulled straight by the weight, it fell to her waist in a ponytail and swung in time with her movement. A startling white braid fell from her left temple and had a small black fetish hanging from the end. Her eyes were hidden by dark aviator shades but he knew the shape of her lips and the curve of her jaw. This was without a doubt his wife. She hadn't noticed him yet, situated where he was in the arch of the kitchen door, and for that he was grateful. Suddenly he wasn't certain that this had been a good idea. Just seeing her brought all his feelings to the fore and he felt the shivers start. Her reaction was one that he feared, what if she hadn't wanted to be found? Would she be glad to see him, or would she hate him? His doubts roared in his ears as he drank in the sight of her. Napoleon must have sensed his unease because he laid a hand on his shoulder.

"What was so god damned impor-" she froze in mid-sentence, seeing him for the first time. He could see the blood drain from her face and the bag she was carrying fell to the floor with a loud thunk.

"Paige." He managed to whisper, hope and fear warring in his chest.

She couldn't breathe, couldn't think. The apparition standing in the archway couldn't possibly be there. She felt her blood turn to ice as she stared at it. Some part of her mind registered her bag hitting the floor.

The hair was more silver than blond, but still in the slightly shaggy style he had always loved. There were lines around the deep blue eyes that still haunted her dreams, the face though, god that face. Then the apparition spoke, "Paige."

'Oh god.' She whimpered. It had his voice. His voice.

"No." she croaked, pain rasping her voice. "Not real."

"Paige." It spoke again and started to move toward her. She backed up, shaking her head in denial.

"No. HE is dead." She hissed finding her strength in the knowledge that this couldn't possibly be him. She clenched her fists against the pain that slammed through her. "I don't know what or who you are but ILLYA IS DEAD."

"Nyet, dushka. Paige, it is me." It whispered. She shook her head once more. God the sound of his voice, the rough smooth velvet was agony to hear. She choked slightly on the scream that threatened in her throat. With a quick motion she ripped off the shades and tossed them at the apparition hoping to dispel it. But it remained.

"Nonononononoo." She chanted as she backed away from the ghost standing in her living room. She didn't register anyone else there, her eyes saw only the spectre from her past. She kept backing away until she could move no further, the wall slamming against her in cold reality. Panic began to replace pain as the apparition refused to vanish. Frantically she cast around for some out, some way to regain her sanity. The apparition continued to move toward her, its movement slightly jerky, which confused her for a moment. Then her eyes registered the crutch that it leaned against, her eyes roved over it, seeing the limp now. A movement behind it drew her eyes and they settled on the other face that haunted her nightmares.

"Napoleon?" she whispered seeking those dark eyes for confirmation before moving back to the man standing in front of her.

"Yes, Paige." Napoleon answered knowing what it was she sought.

"Reality." She breathed stretching her hand out to the dream standing in front of her. Her fingertips brushed against his cheek, the contact bringing a sob from her chest. She ran them up the line of his jaw to skirt around the curl of his ear. Tremors began to course through her as the warmth and solidity of her "ghost" registered. He reached a hand up and caught hers, pressing it against his cheek, he leaned into the caress.

Almost afraid to move she reached out with her other hand and laid it on the chest where she had laid her head so long ago. The thump of his heart pulsed against it and with a deep choking sob she buried her face into his body, wrapping both arms around him tightly. He responded pulling her into an answering embrace, his voice murmuring soft nonsense into her ears. His shoulders shook in time with her cries as he held her, afraid that if he let her go, he would wake and she would be gone.

Napoleon cast his eyes around the room, his own tears denied as he listened to the sounds his best friend was making. He noticed the hastily averted gazes of the young people that lived with her and smiled at them faintly. It was a long time before the couple separated and turned their attention to their audience. Paige wiped her face on her sleeve and chuckled tightly.

"I never could cry beautifully." She looked up at Illya still in a state of shock.

He wiped a tear from her cheek and grinned. "You are still beautiful."

"And you Dr. Kuryakin still need to wear your glasses." She retorted automatically falling back into the banter that had held so much meaning for them. He fished in his jacket pocket and pulled a pair of cheaters out. He slipped them on and smiled at her again wrapping his arm around her waist.

"Still beautiful." Came the answer like always.

"Oh God." she moaned. Her faced blanched and she swayed. Illya caught her tightly and motioned for someone to help him sit her down. Keeper grabbed her by the other arm and they led her to the futon. "This is so- so- unbelievable. I don't know what to say, what to think."

"I understand, dushka." Illya said softly not taking his eyes off her. "So many questions. So many years."

"All this time, I thought you were dead, Illyusha. Hell, I KNEW you were dead." She opened her eyes and looked into his. "I never once suspected that..."

"Tell us what happened." Napoleon suggested softly.

"You told him about Massachusetts?" She asked. Illya nodded.

"Only until they knocked me out. When I came to I was on a transport plane back to Moscow. It took Napoleon two years to find me but he did and brought me out of a Siberian labor camp." Illya looked down at his damaged leg, she followed his eyes and laid her head on his shoulder. "A souvenir." He motioned to the crutch leaning against the futon. "But we couldn't find you."

She smiled tightly and sighed heavily. "I'm not surprised, considering what happened. After they hit you, they put us in separate cars. The head KGB, his name was Sigorsky, kept me with him. He gloated over his luck in capturing the 'great' Illya Kuryakin so easily." Her eyes focused on the opposite wall and her voice grew cold as she talked.

"We drove out into a state park. I don't know where exactly we were, but it was about two hours from the motel. It was just starting to snow again, the storm moving back in, I can remember watching the flakes hit the window while he talked. He went into great detail about what was going to happen when we got wherever we were going." She shivered and he pulled her tight against him once more. "I didn't know what to do. I couldn't fight, they had me handcuffed and I didn't know if you were awake or not. When the cars stopped, I thought that we might have a chance to escape, it was snowing quite heavily by then. But you were still unconscious when they pulled you from the car. Sigorsky was quite upset that you hadn't come around all the way, I think he wanted to gloat a bit more, to enjoy his assignment. He wouldn't let me anywhere near you, kept me standing beside the car as they pushed you to your knees..."

_Massachusetts Woods, December 25, 1969._

_Illya hung suspended between the two men as they dragged him into the snow. His face was still covered by the black hood they had forced over his head at the motel. She tried to struggle to his side, but Sigorsky had one of the others hold her at the car. She could see them moving a bit further into the edge of the trees but not far enough where she wouldn't see what was about to happen. Part of her couldn't believe that this was actually happening, surely this was a nightmare and she would wake to find Illya curled next to her in sleep, his arms wrapped around her waist as always. A sick fear began to coalesce as the reality of it all sank into her psyche. Rage and fear pulsed through her with the fear winning out and her blood thickened to ice. She couldn't hear what was being said over the pounding of her heart._

_Breathing became an impossibility as they forced Illya to his knees. He began to struggle weakly and she was certain that he spoke, but the pounding of her heart muffled any sounds. Terror began to blanket everything with a sense of unreality and her vision tunneled slightly. Time slowed as Sigorsky pulled the gun from his waistband and placed the barrel against the back of Illya's head. For a moment he looked at her, triumph in his eyes and the world went silent for her. Her vision grayed out for a moment, but the sound of the pistol's report echoing through the woods brought everything to startling crispness._

_She was aware that she was screaming, the now limp body of her beloved falling face first into the deepening snow. She never registered her release, only the crimson snowflakes that dusted the black figure laying so still filled her world. She stumbled to him, falling to her knees, still keening shrilly as she gathered his body into her arms. The departure of his executioners just a shadow on her pain..._

"I lost track of time." She squeezed Illya's hand slightly stopping her narrative. "Cliché as it sounds."

"We all know how you love cliché." Keeper muttered.

"Fuck you." She said without missing a beat. "I just wanted to curl up and die. You were gone and nothing else mattered." She shook her head at her past actions. "Stupid I know but there you have it. Anyhow, I lost track of time. It got dark..."

_She was slowly freezing to death lying there in the snow with the cold corpse of her beloved husband in her arms. She was aware of the fall of snowflakes against her cooling skin, the dangerous warmth of their touch. Some part of her noted that they weren't melting any more, she knew it was an important discovery but lacked the will to dig the memory out of her mind. The only thing that mattered was the still body she held so tightly. She couldn't bring herself to remove the hood, not wanting to see the ruin of that face. No, she held enough sense to spare herself the hidden damage._

_Time passed and it grew dark. The sudden bob and weave of a handheld light blinded her, startling a soft exclamation from her. She flinched away from the torture device, hiding her face in a rigid shoulder. Movement brought someone to kneel beside her, and she could feel a slight warmth as she was turned from Illya's shoulder. She struggled slightly, resisting her rescuer's effort but it was only a brief success. The cold and shock had stripped her strength and she had to allow this person to pull her away from the now frozen corpse._

_Voices spoke just beyond her understanding and she was wrapped in a dry coat, carefully picked up and carried out of the woods. The headlights of cars confirmed her rescue and she turned back toward the copse of trees, trying to plead for them to rescue Illya as well. The sight of his body being zipped into a body bag shone clearly in the lights now held by several people and she lost consciousness, unable to process any more._

"There is no record any where of UNCLE retrieving a body." Napoleon said softly when she stopped talking. She looked at him for a long moment then smiled a soft, slightly condescending smile.

"Who said anything about UNCLE?" she whispered. "To say that things changed that night would be a understatement of epic proportions, Napoleon. When I woke up three days and nights later, it was to find myself in a THRUSH facility. Seems an old friend of yours, Angelique, had intercepted the communication that Sigorsky sent to Moscow to confirm the execution. She managed to figure out where he was and got lucky enough to find me."

"I owe her then." Illya said softly. He kissed Shado's hand gently. "She saved your life."

"Why did you disappear?" Napoleon persisted. Something wasn't adding up, Illya was too wrapped up in finding Paige again to notice it, but there was something they were hiding. He had a feeling that it was something very important.

"I had my reasons Napoleon, most of the based in the fact that I didn't know who to trust. Someone had just killed my husband, you were incommunicado, my father was strangely silent on the whole thing- take your pick. Plus I just wanted to get as far away from everyone as I possibly could. There was nothing in New York for me." she shifted until she could look Illya in the eyes. "I really thought you were dead."

"It's all right, dushka. You couldn't know." He comforted her.

"That doesn't tell me how you found me after all this time. I mean there is no way you could have figured it out. I've been so very careful." She was suddenly worried that their cover was blown and that they were in danger of being caught.

"We got a transmission from Illya's old communicator. Which he says he left in Waverly's office when he left that day." Napoleon said.

"A transmission, communicator? I don't under-" her sentence trailed off and she slowly turned to the heretofore silent observers of her unfolding drama. Brit waved one hand sheepishly as they all tried to look elsewhere. Napoleon and Illya could almost feel the change come over her as she oh so slowly leaned forward. Her posture was tight and the watching kids cringed.

"Major, would you care to explain how this breach in security came about?" her voice was a whip crack of command catching the agents by surprise.

"Ma'am no ma'am except to say that it was an accident." The one they knew as Mark offered hesitantly.

"That is NOT an explanation Major. I expect an answer."

"Well it was a joint operation, Col. The attic needed insulation therefore we needed to shift stuff from it into the storage in the basement. Your old footlocker accidentally met with an accident, which meant it needed to be emptied as well." He looked around for help. "There was this shoebox, and a photo-"

"Major I am quite aware of the contents of my footlocker." She hissed. "You, all of you, took it upon yourselves to violate my trust, go through my personal kit...and you are still sitting in my house?!" she glared at them long enough to make them all squirm. They knew she had the right to be totally pissed, they just didn't know what form retribution would take. Suddenly she was laughing. "God damn and I thought I had brass balls!"

"Then you aren't too terribly upset?" Faln ventured hopefully.

"Oh trust me once all this has a chance to sink in, you guys are going to be in serious shit. Consider yourselves warned accordingly." She said shaking her head.

"Dushka?" Illya asked softly. All the anomalies had finally wormed their way through his shock and she looked at him with understanding.

"Babe, so much has changed in the past twenty years. So very much." She laid back for a moment. "Do you trust me Illyusha?" Illya canted his head in thought. "That answers my question right there. You don't know me anymore, just like I don't know you anymore."

"I want to say that I trust you. I want to." he said just as softly.

"BUT- it would be great if things could go back to the way they were, my love." She traced a finger over his lower lip. "But the reality is this, there are things in both of our lives that make that impossible." She looked at him considering for a moment. "I really hope you can understand if I ask you to give me a bit of time to get used to all this. There is more at stake here than you can imagine." She touched his cheek tenderly. "Just until tomorrow, husband. I'll try to answer all your questions then. Please."

"The baby?" he asked almost sounding fearful. "Paige? Please, I need to know..."

She canted her head, considering her words carefully. Twenty years of protecting the only part of him she'd had was hard to put aside. But he did need to know. "Our son, my love, is well. He's just like his father, handsome, brilliant."

"Where is he?" Illya asked unable to hide the relief and eagerness from anyone.

"Tomorrow, Illya, I'll tell you all about him tomorrow."

Illya nodded, there was a lot that they both needed to think about. He was reluctant to let her out of his sight, afraid if he did so, she would disappear once more and he would never find her. As if she read his mind, she spoke again.

"I promise I won't run. Just you come back too, ok? I don't want to lose you."


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

After Illya and Napoleon had left, Shado returned to the living room. Wisely enough, there was no sign of anyone else around. She listened intently for a few minutes, finally hearing slight noises coming from the basement region. Evidently they had scampered down there, hoping to avoid the explosion that was headed their way. She listened for a moment, then slid open the slider and slipped out onto the deck. She really wasn't in the mood to confront the wayward bunch, she needed time to think things through first. Her entire world had shifted on its axis and she really didn't know what to do or how to act.

She sat in a chair and pulled her knees up to her chin. With a negligent wave of her hand, she summoned a drink from the wet bar, it appeared with a soft clink of ice, and likewise she pulled a cigarette from the pack in her bag, still where she had dropped it. She stared at the smoke slowly wending its way upward into the darkening sky. God, had it been only three hours since she had arrived home? It felt like time had alternately crept or fled, she couldn't decide.

She had been so reluctant to let him out of her sight, more than half afraid that he was still an hallucination and the rest afraid that he was indeed real. She wasn't sure which would be easier to deal with, reality or insanity. She snorted softly. Insanity definitely, it fit with her current lifestyle much better than a long dead husband. She sipped the Glenfiddich in the glass, her breath catching in the medicinal aftermath. Taking a drag from the slim black cigarette, she blew the clove flavored smoke toward the bay. A warmth against her shoulder had her turning her head to the small grayish area that had appeared.

"You really get your jollies doing shit like this don't you?" she asked the avatar that flickered and wavered in the half light of dusk.

*I had nothing to do with this.*

"Right. And the Pope isn't Catholic." She took another drink.

*Despite what you would care to think, Fledgling, not all that happens in the universe falls under my purview. Some things are the responsibility of chaos, this just happens to be one of them.* the Phoenix whispered into the air. *Are you not happier now, Fledgling?*

"Why should this make me happy?" she snapped.

The smoky form shifted and a small flame took its place. *You have him back. Does that not please you?*

"Oh, yeah. I'm as happy as a pig in shit." She groused. She stubbed the cigarette out and lit another. "Look, yes I am thrilled beyond thrilled that he is alive. It's just the timing really sucks." She blew another smoke trail at the avatar. "I want him. Ancients, Phoenix, I still love him. But I can't have him. Not with all the shit you guys have dumped on us. It wouldn't be fair to him, or to me, or to our son. Listen to me, I mean hell, I don't even know that he still wants me."

Phoenix winked out for a second, then came back perched on her shoulder, a smoldering coal. At his touch she felt her world shift slightly and she could "see" the interior of the limo Napoleon and Illya were in.

'She's still my wife, Napoleon.' Illya was saying obviously in response to something. 'I love her and whatever else that will never change.'

'Illya you don't know her. There is something wrong in that house. She's hiding something.' Napoleon argued.

Illya shook his head. 'It doesn't matter Napoleon. Not to me, not now-not ever.'

'What if she wants you to leave?'

'If that is what she wants, I won't like it, but I will. Doesn't mean I can't keep an eye on her.'

Napoleon shook his head. 'I'm sorry, Illya but everything I know tells me that she's a danger to you, to UNCLE. I just don't want to see you hurt again, tovarich.'

'She's my wife, Napoleon. She deserves my trust for that reason alone.'

'Sometimes, Illya, you surprise me.'

She felt Phoenix move away and glared at the avatar once more. "You know, there are rules about eavesdropping."

*You needed to know. I showed you.* Phoenix shrugged. *I do not see a problem with that.*

Shado dropped her head onto her knees, "It's nice that he still cares that much. But it still doesn't help me."

*Fledgling, things are never as difficult as you would make them. Think for a moment. What is your biggest worry?*

"You mean other than the price of cigarettes and gas?" she looked out at the bay now shrouded by darkness. "That I won't be able to keep the kids safe. That one day, I'll come home and find MPs parked at the door."

*Your Illyusha, what does he do?*

She chuckled. "Well last time I looked, he was a spy. Now, hell who knows?"

*Did not the dark one say they had gotten a transmission that led them here? Does that not indicate to you that they are still with the UNCLE?*

"Yeah, so, he's still in the game."

*Could he not use his position to help you? To keep the wolves from your door?* Phoenix asked.

"Oh hell, no, Phoenix. I am SO not about to involve either of them in this mess that you have us in." she growled.

*They are already involved, Fledgling. If you look at them, you can see the hand of the fates already on them.*

"Phoenix is right, sensei." Keeper said from the doorway. She jumped, she hadn't heard him open it. "The guardians saw them, watched them the whole time they were here. A couple of them actually wanted to follow them back to the hotel." He joined her on the deck, frowning at the cigarette in her hand.

"I am sorry, Shado, that this happened. Honestly, we hadn't meant to pry. But once the cat was out of the bag, well," he shrugged. "We couldn't really help it."

She sent a gaze toward the hovering avatar. "I think you probably had a little help there, Keeper."

*On that note, I shall take my leave of you. Fledgling, realize that all things happen in their own time. Now is yours to trust your heart.* and the avatar fled.

"I really hate it when he does that." She said to no one in particular. "Don't get the idea that you all are out of trouble for this. I just have to think of a suitable punishment for you."

"Whatever." He said. "The others and I have reached an agreement on this. It's up to you what you want to tell or not tell. We trust you."

"Oh how magnanimous of you." She snarked. "It was always my decision anyway."

"Um, actually no it wasn't." he argued. "Since it would involve us and our safety it's a mutual thing."

"You all blew that the moment you activated that communicator." She finished off the scotch. "That's when you compromised our security which then makes it MY decision on the appropriate action. Since I'm the only one with the resources and the ability to hide us."

"We really need to talk about your ego." Keeper muttered, running a hand through his hair. "Look it really doesn't matter at this point. It's been done and now we need to deal with it. All we are saying is that if you decide to trust them, we won't object." He stood and headed back into the house.

"Hey Keeper." She whispered, he turned and looked inquiringly at her. "In case I haven't said it- thank you. For everything." He smiled, knowing exactly what she meant.

"Our pleasure, sensei. Just try to get some sleep at some point tonight ok?" he pulled the slider closed, leaving her in the dark with her thoughts.

"Sleep. Right." She muttered. The sounds of the group moving around in the house were muted by the glass but she knew the routine well enough that she knew what they were doing. Eventually, as the hours passed the lights went out one by one, until the only one left was the security light from the basement door. She stared out over the bay, hearing the soft wash of the waves as the tide turned.

From around the point she could see the pulse of the lighthouse at the Coast Guard station there. She had counted on that beacon to help her martial her thoughts on more than one occasion, but tonight it couldn't help her. The sight of him standing in the living room, the feel of his strength wrapped around her all ganged up on her, making rational thought impossible. She bit back a soft sob, knowing that Brit and Faln had their window open. Last thing she wanted was one of them crashing this party.

The running lights of a freighter caught her attention and she watched it make its careful way through the dark shipping channel, wondering as it passed where it had come from and what its cargo might be. As it slowly moved out of her line of sight she let her mind wander to happier times, flashes of Illya brought a smile to her face. The way he would get so lost in the Lab, how he moved through the halls, the sound of his breathing in the night. She shook her head, she hadn't known when they had first met that she would come to like him, much less fall in love with him.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

_1967._

The two agents her father had assigned to her, left her alone in the small apartment for visitors once she had been cleared by Medical. It had taken her father putting in an appearance to explain her "seizure" as normal before the doctors had stopped with the tests. She sat on the edge of the small twin bed, her kit on the floor by the door. Now that she was alone, she let the residual of the vision wash over her, trying to make some sense out of it. But all she knew was that the event would happen in the future and be devastating when it did. Pulling herself together she unpacked, placing the few changes of clothing she had in the drawers of the dresser provided.

She would have to see about civilian clothes, since she hadn't brought but a single change and seriously doubted that there would be time to send back to the base for her things. Luckily, she had brought her checkbook so that shouldn't be a problem. She was just hanging up her class Bs when a soft knock came from her door. She reached for her side arm, a reflex movement, before opening it. She eased the hammer down to the same half grin on Kuryakin's face when he saw that she had answered armed.

"While I can appreciated the thought, I don't think you need that here." He said his voice amused. She motioned him in and shrugged.

"Habit." She laid the small pistol on the night stand.

"Nice habit." He looked around the room. "I came to see if you would care to join Napoleon and myself for dinner." He appeared to be ill at ease and she had the feeling that he didn't socialize much. For about half a second she considered refusing, on general principle, but she was going to have to work with these two, her orders left her no choice.

"What did you have in mind?" she asked, running through her limited wardrobe choices. She had single pair of patched hip huggers, something guaranteed to piss off the old man, and a tie dyed shirt, packed for the same reason.

"There's a jazz club in the village that is very pleasant." He said shyly.

"Great. I like jazz." She smiled taking him up on the invitation. "Can you give me a few minutes to change?"

"Certainly. If you would like you can meet us in Napoleon's office? Give me a chance to finish up a few things." Illya said. He handed her a yellow triangular pass, similar to the ones that he and his partner wore. "This is your pass to the offices. Napoleon's is easy to find, just follow the sound of women's voices."

"I understand." She said smiling as she took it from him. "That'll be just fine. I need to finish unpacking and change. I'll be there in say, thirty minutes?"

Illya nodded. She saw him out and watched him walk away, wondering what had sparked the invitation. He hadn't struck her as the social type, but then, he might be. She was about to find out.

She took a few moments to check out her appearance, so radically different from the uniformed officer she had been just fifteen minutes ago. Her hair hung loose except for a braid at her temple to her mid shoulders, she had tied the braid with a feather fetish that she had gotten somewhere. The tie dyed shirt came only to her midriff, baring her belly button. The hip huggers were painted on, she had to lie down to zip them, but now that she was up and moving around they were loosening up. A chain belt swung from the loops and bumped against her knee. One of her ankles rang with bells from the anklet she had, her toe nails shone with brilliant purple nail polish easily seen with the sandals she had on. She topped off the whole look with a pair of purple tinted shades ala the Beatles.

"A bit over the top, but should get the message across nicely." She said to the room. The yellow badge didn't really go with the outfit so she stuck it to the strap of her large macrame handbag. Pleased that she would make her point, she opened the door and headed out into the halls of the 'establishment.'

The looks she garnered from the people she passed were priceless. She fully expected the office grapevine to inform her father before she had the chance to slip out. She had timed her arrival at Napoleon's office perfectly, he and Illya both looked up as she opened the door. For a moment, she almost laughed at the stunned looks on their faces but they both recovered quickly. Napoleon grinning widely, closed the file they were working on and stood. She wasn't sure what was going on behind the blue eyes of the Russian, but she figured she might just have lost whatever opportunity she had with him, not that she was planning on messing around with one of her father's people. OK, well she had thought about it, for about thirty seconds and had dismissed it as a really bad thing to do.

"Well, we're done here for now." Napoleon said. Illya stood as well and the three of them headed for reception. "You mind if I ask you a question?"

"Certainly, you can ask. Doesn't guarantee you'll get an answer." She said as they moved down the hall.

"Pagan Michelle!" came the bellow from the opposite end of the corridor. All three of them stopped, Napoleon and Illya turning automatically. She hesitated, knowing full well what that tone in her father's voice meant. She wasn't disappointed, he was storming toward them, his face red and his eyes raking over her like mad.

"Yes?" she replied coolly.

He stopped a few feet in front of her, his voice dripping with displeasure. "What is the meaning of this?" he motioned to her attire. "There is a dress code in..."

"Excuse me." She looked at the large clock hanging at the end of the hall, then at Napoleon. "What about it?"

"You will comport..."

She interrupted him once more. "Two things Old Man, first off, it's after hours and I'm off duty. Secondly, I haven't lived under your roof in six years therefore you have no say in my dress." She looked at him. "And if you still have trouble with either of those, sit on this." She flipped him the bird and walked away leaving Waverly with his jaw hanging open. Napoleon and Illya wisely decided to completely ignore the incident after exchanging glances. They hurried to catch up to her. She was fuming silently as she signed out of the register and handed the receptionist the badge.

Neither of them knew what to say after the display of animosity in the hallway. She gave them a slightly apologetic smile.

"Look, I understand if that made you all uncomfortable. If you would rather-" the offer was unsaid but she was willing to let the dinner invite slide.

Illya spoke quickly. "Please join us."

"Yes, it would be our pleasure and besides we need to get to know a bit about you if we are going to be working together." Napoleon agreed, he was in awe of someone who wasn't afraid to stand up to Mr. Waverly.

"You don't think it will cause trouble for you do you?" she asked suddenly reluctant to do so. She hadn't thought about how it might reflect on the two at least not until now.

"I seriously doubt it, Miss Waverly." Napoleon said smoothly leading the way to where he had his car parked. They were going to stop by his place and Illya's to give them the chance to change for dinner, then they would be heading to the club.

"Please, Miss Waverly is someone else." She said as Illya opened the car door for her. Once she was settled, he slid into the backseat.

"Ms. St. John?" Napoleon asked.

"Sounds like my mother." She thought for a second. "Actually I prefer Paige. Pagan is just too odd, and I hate the name Michelle, that's what they called me when I was a kid. But Paige will work."

"Paige it is." They both agreed.

Dinner had been a very nice affair. The company was great, Napoleon doing most of the talking, but Illya had told a few stories and really knew his jazz. She found herself liking the duo despite their employer. She reciprocated, telling a bit about her childhood parent and her "talent". Not that there was a lot to tell about it, it was infrequent and often didn't make sense until after the fact. But it was part and parcel of her and the reason she had been loaned out. At the end of the evening she found herself being escorted back to UNCLE by Illya, Napoleon having plans for later.

With an effort she pulled herself from the past to focus on the here and now. She had no idea what time it was, only that it was getting late and she was still no closer to a decision regarding the morrow's events. She shook her head, she could remember so clearly, their first date, and all the subsequent time they spent together, just as if it had happened yesterday. And seeing him again today, despite the passage of years, he still had the power to make her knees weak.

Her heart was saying that she could still trust him with her life, but her mind countered maybe with hers but there were more lives at stake than that. Then add into that the need she had to protect her son, to keep him safe from any possible repercussions, she really wasn't sure what she should do.

The words of Phoenix bothered her as well. The fact that the hand of fate was on them, and the guardians wishing to go... she sighed. It sounded to her as if the choice wasn't really hers to make. She honestly didn't know what was worse, having to make a choice or having no choice at all.

Finally, just as the night sky started to lighten, she came to a kind of solution. Not exactly her first choice but this would take care of it all. She stood and stretched, might as well try to get a little sleep, she thought and headed up to her room.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen

*For the purposes of this story, and in complete realization that according to the Soviet government, Forced labor camps were NON existent in the Soviet Union after 1953; I have manufactured Illya's experiences in the Gulag. However, since I have no personal experience in such an existence, and wanting to keep this as close to factual as a fictional piece can Be- keep in mind the disclaimer above, I have raided the experiences of those 'nonexistent' forced labor camp survivors that Amnesty International has found. For more information, please visit Amnesty International or just google Siberian Labor Camps for all kinds of stuff that supposedly never happened. You gotta love the governments of our world!*

Illya looked at Napoleon sitting across from him in the restaurant. He could really understand his friend's perspective, but what he didn't think Napoleon understood was his NEED to have Paige back in his life. Napoleon had loved only once in his life, and lost her at a very young age, but he had had closure, had buried Carolyn and moved on. Since then he had worked his way through romance after romance, never letting his heart become endangered. Sometimes over the past years, it had created more problems for them, but it was just the way of things. Now that Illya had found her, the desire to attempt to put their shattered lives back together was driving him.

"Napoleon, I understand your reluctance. But honestly, tovarich, there are things that we have hidden as well." He argued. Napoleon sighed.

"It's not exactly the same is it?" he countered. His logic said that the things they did in the line of their work didn't count. Whatever Paige was hiding from them, he would lay odds it was illegal. There was just something about that place that had his law enforcement radar pinging like crazy. It was driving him nuts that Illya, usually right on top of things like this, wasn't picking it up. He could understand to a degree but this complacent, I'll believe whatever story she tells me attitude of his, that was what he was having trouble accepting.

Illya knew exactly what was bugging Napoleon, there was no way that he couldn't know it. "Napoleon, why would she feel the need to lie to us?"

"Oh I don't know, Illya. Maybe because she's doing something she shouldn't. I don't know what it is Illya but I do know that whatever she says tomorrow I'm checking it out." Napoleon fixed him with his best I'm the boss and I'm doing this for your own good stare.

Illya sighed and glanced down at his plate. He really didn't have much appetite. "Napoleon, you do what you must. I must trust her, if I am ever to have her in my life." His pale winter ocean eyes looked across the room, despair etching his face for a fleeting moment. "The thought of walking away, knowing she's alive and NOT having her- it is more than even a Russian soul can stand."

"Illya, I really hope it doesn't come to that. To be honest," Napoleon leaned over and covered Illya's hand with his own. "I don't think she has any intention of letting you walk away. She still loves you, you can see it in her eyes." He tried to comfort his friend. Illya pulled his hand away and crumpled his napkin.

"On that note, tovarich, I shall retire for the evening, hopefully to sleep." He stood and moved out of the restaurant slowly, wending his way carefully through the tables.

Napoleon watched the fragile figure until it was out of his sight. Then he poured another glass of wine and stared into it as if it held all the answers to the universe. He could still see the shattered figure he had pulled out of the labor camp eighteen years previous...

_Somewhere in Siberia, 1971._

Napoleon crouched behind the small hillock of snow and ice. His breath, despite his best attempts to dispel it, puffed into the air like tiny smoke signals. His only saving grace was the fact that in the gloom of a Russian winter night, it was doubtful that anyone could see him. Plus given the fact that it was cold enough to freeze the balls off a polar bear, he really doubted that anyone was out. Except for him. He put the night vision goggles to his eyes once more.

He had been watching the camp in order to time the guards' rounds for a couple days. He had hidden an artic tent half a mile away, in it enough supplies for a week's stay, plus the radio that would have their ride on its way once he got Illya out of that place.

He shivered, then got angry with himself. He thought of the ragged figure that he had tentatively identified as his missing partner, of the thin clothing that had clung to the skeletal frame and cursed under his breath. He had wanted to break him out the moment he had seen him, but caution was called for. A mad dash would only get them killed and he really wasn't ready to die, not yet. Still, watching the limping, half frozen and starved form of his best friend as he attempted to carry out his labors, he had felt rage building in his soul. A quick glance through the goggles and he had his cue that it was time to move. The guards were headed inside for their nightly cup of vodka or tea or whatever they took. That meant he had tops 30 minutes before they would make another round. The only good thing about this location was the fact that there was nowhere for anyone to run, therefore the guards were fairly lax in their duties. After all, who in their right mind would break into this place?

Napoleon asked himself that question as he made his way carefully through the snow and knelt to cut the wire of the fence. The quiet snips of the nippers was loud in the silent darkness and he flinched, certain that he would be heard. The guard tower was about 30 yards away, and on a night like this, sound would carry. But gratefully, the guards were more interested in a card game that they had going than in what was happening under their noses. He hoped that his infamous luck would hold, he would really need it in order to bring the ill Kuryakin out of here and safely to the pickup point.

As he moved under the wire, he felt his back twinge and his knee, injured the year before on an affair, answered. He really was getting too old for this type of stuff, and to be honest as Number One Section One, he shouldn't be doing this at all. But by damn, Illya was his partner and he was going to get him. Moving as quickly as he could he darted into the shadows alongside one of the small outbuildings, a tool shed he thought. The voices of the guards from inside the guard shack echoed in the night, one of them was proclaiming his girl gave the best... Napoleon grimaced, too much information, he thought. A movement from the tower nearest him, kept him in place, as someone looked over the yard. Once it had turned its back he slinked slowly around toward where he thought he had seen Illya earlier.

This was the hard part, finding him among all the prisoners wasn't going to be a cake walk. He only had a few satellite photos taken earlier in the month, coupled with a very brief glimpse of him going into a building before sunset, to give him a clue. Now as he worked his way there, he could only hope and pray that this was the right building and that it was indeed his partner that he was going after. He only had this one shot, because if he failed, they would make him disappear, this time permanently. Snow crunched coldly under the boots of a guard and Napoleon cringed back against the cold wall of the barracks. He placed his gloved hand over his mouth to dispel any breath and watched as the soldier, bored with whatever passed for entertainment out here, halted just around the corner from him. He heard the snick of a match, saw the flare of light, and then smelled the acrid smoke of the Russian's cigarette. Damn, he thought. He would have to wait until the man moved on.

It took him forever to smoke that one cigarette, meanwhile, Napoleon felt his joints freezing up with the cold. Finally the man moved away and he could continue his careful trek into the depths of the compound. He passed several tiny structures that he knew were used to punish those that didn't cooperate. He had the sick thought of Illya spending hours, days possibly weeks in one, for he knew his partner would have fought with every ounce of strength he had.

A movement at the table caused Napoleon to flinch, spilling a ruby red drop of wine on the white table cloth. It was only someone passing by, and he stared at the drop as it spread slightly, staining the cloth like blood had stained the snow.

At last he made it to the building that he hoped housed Illya. Only the sounds of harsh breathing and the occasional cough floated through the air as he opened the door carefully. He would have gone in through a window, but there were none. He had to grin slightly as the door opened, at least it hadn't been locked and apparently someone had oiled the old hinges recently. Nothing like making a job easier, he thought as he slipped into the darkness. Now for the really hard part.

Holding his glove in his teeth, he carefully removed a small pen light from a pocket, and with a twist had a small bit of illumination to work by. He swept it quickly around the room, counting at least 30 maybe 40 sleeping bodies, piled every which way, some on bunks, some on the floor but none of them, he noticed had more than a single thread bare blanket to keep the cold away. He bent over the first figure, flashing the light quickly into the man's face then away as he identified it as Not-Illya. The man, exhausted didn't even move. Cold and poor rations would do that to a man, Napoleon knew.

He moved swiftly and carefully through the bodies, looking for that one particular face. He almost missed him, he looked so very different. His face had no flesh on it, the skin, chapped and cracked from the elements. His head had been shaved, so there wasn't the distinctive blond mop that he missed, but when the light shone in his face, his eyes had popped open. Napoleon would know those eyes anywhere, no matter what the condition of the face. Illya, threw a hand over his face and cried softly.

"Nyet," he hissed pleading in his voice. Napoleon's Russian wasn't good enough to follow all that Illya was saying, but he heard enough to know that Illya was terrified.

"Easy, tovarich. Easy." He whispered putting his hand over Illya's mouth to silence him before he woke everyone. "It's me, Illya. Napoleon." He chanted into an ear.

Illya stilled suddenly and Napoleon moved his hand away, ready to replace it if he needed to. "Na-napoleon?" the voice was very weak and hesitant. And Napoleon shone the light into his own face to assure Illya that he wasn't imagining things. The response was shocking and immediate. Tears welled from those blue eyes and ran down Illya's face. "I knew you would come." He kept repeating petting Napoleon's cheek with one very thin hand.

"Yes, Illya I'm here." Napoleon wanted to take a moment to comfort his friend, but they really didn't have the time. "Illya we need to get out of here. Can you walk?" A valid question and one that he had asked many times in their years as partners, for a moment those times ran in his mind's eye, all the times he had pulled Illya from someone's clutches, all the times Illya had done the same for him. He could feel the burn of tears as his partner nodded slowly.

"Da, Napoleon, but not very well. Perhaps if you helped me a bit?" he asked suddenly aware of his condition. "I am sorry."

"Don't you dare say it." Napoleon hissed and Illya jerked in reaction. "I am the one who should be sorry but we'll talk about that once I get you out of here, all right?"

Illya stood shaking and Napoleon wrapped his arm around the thin shoulders. He cussed mentally, feeling nothing but bone where there had once been sleek muscle. Slowly and as quietly as they could they moved toward the door. Just as they almost reached it, someone in the depths of the building cried out earning a hissed 'shut up!' from someone else, but they were lucky, Solo's luck on their side, for no one remarked on their exit from the building.

Outside, Illya shivered in the chill wind that had sprung up and Napoleon pulled him closer to shield him.

"I have a pack stashed just beyond the fence, if you can get there, I have a coat and clothes for you." He whispered ultra-soft into Illya's ear. The slight Russian nodded and they began their excruciating way through the darkness. Napoleon, although grateful for the lack of moonlight, wished fervently for some illumination, since he had no idea just how long they had been in the building. He didn't know for certain if he still had time before the guards did another round, or if they were already on the circuit. Again his luck held and they made the fence without incident. Napoleon eased Illya under the fence, following quickly, he repaired it with a few twists of wire from a pocket. It wouldn't do to let them know that someone had gotten away until they did roll call in the morning. That should give him plenty of time to get to the pickup point, even if it meant carrying his partner all the way.

Which is pretty much what he ended up having to do, Illya's strength gave out less than three hundred yards from the gulag, Napoleon managing to catch him as he fell. As he swung Illya into his arms, he cringed at the lack of weight he now held. Illya hadn't been exactly well built, always having been slender, but it had been a muscular slender, but now, there was nothing to his friend but bone and skin. He hurried to the tent he had set up, cradling Illya carefully, not wishing to injure his friend any further, knowing from experience that his skin would tear very easily for a long time to come. The cloud cover parted slightly, allowing just a tiny bit of moonlight to gild the snow they traveled over. It shone enough that Napoleon could see their footsteps being covered by the blowing snow, but it also allowed him to see that blood lay on the snow. It was then that he realized Illya was barefoot. "God damn them all to hell." He swore into the night.

Napoleon shivered at the memory and stood up from the table. This was no place for that particular mind trip, he chastised himself as he headed for their suite of rooms. He knew Illya would still be awake, how could he sleep after all? He had a feeling that none of them would get any sleep this night. And as the elevator deposited him in their hall, he decided that he would get some work done. A handful of 'important' faxes had come for him on his portable fax. Just what the doctor ordered he thought, requisition forms, business expenses, and bull shit. He sighed, the work was never done.

Carefully he let himself into the rooms, knowing that there was a decent chance that Illya had a gun on him, but strangely enough the rooms were empty. At first he panicked, thinking all kinds of things could have happened to his partner- THRUSH, the Consortium, an old enemy. But then he caught sight of a piece of paper taped to the mirror.

He tore it open, reading Illya's note that he had gone for a walk, to think. He looked around the empty suite and knew that he definitely wouldn't be getting any rest. Not until his partner was back. He settled in to wait.

Illya made it as far as the door to their suite before he stopped realizing that he wouldn't find any peace behind that closed portal. There was too much running through his mind, even as he keyed it open, the suite seemed to close in on him, the dark of the room holding ghosts and memories that he didn't want to face right now. All he wanted was to replay the moment he had held his wife in his arms once more. The feel of her body pressed against his, the scent of her hair, the brief taste of her lips as she kissed him- those were the things that he wanted to dwell on, not the past and his demons, not the chance that tomorrow his world would finally come to an end.

Scrawling a note for Napoleon, leaving it on the mirror so he would see it, he turned and headed out into the night. He contemplated actually walking the streets of downtown Seattle, but he was too smart for that, where once he could have done it without a care, now his infirmity screamed 'victim' and he really wasn't in the mood for a fight. Thinking for a moment, he remembered a sign in the lobby for the rooftop gardens, and that's where he headed. This time of night he doubted that there would be anyone up there so he might be able to think things through.

The gardens were actually pleasant, semi-tropical plants tastefully arranged the roof, a pathway winding through them and in various places, benches and chairs beckoned for a moment of peaceful contemplation. He found such a place, toward the back of the garden there was a small koi pond and a break in the foliage. He sat stretching out his legs, resting his arms against the back of the wooden bench. He canted his head upward to take in the night sky.

There were stars, for once it was a relatively clear night, and he was high enough that the lights from the streets didn't cloud the view. He stayed that way for a while, watching the stars, just letting them settle into his bones. A bright orb, the three-quarter moon, peeked over the rooftop of the building in front and he smiled slightly.

_Southeastern United States, 1967_.

_Something woke him and he lay there waiting for the sound once more. There it was a soft footstep as someone walked past the couch. He could hear Napoleon in the connecting room, talking to someone, making their report he thought, the drone of his voice almost too soft to hear. Then the footsteps stopped, by the door he guessed and he waited carefully. It had to be Paige, she was the only other person in this room. Sure enough, he caught a glimpse of her face in the light from the hallway as she slipped out. He sat up grabbing his gun, swearing under his breath. Damn her anyway, he thought. An attempt had already been made by THRUSH to steal her away, thwarted as planned of course, didn't want to make it too easy for the bad guys. But this was really not a good thing, her sneaking off in the night._

_He followed her as she crept away from the motel, heading away from everything. He frowned trying to figure out where on earth she could be going, and he sped up a bit to keep her in his sight. As she walked he thought he could hear her talking with someone. A couple of times she would stop, toss her head back and listen as if she was waiting for an answer but evidently her answer never came for she would shrink in on herself and keep walking. After the fourth time she had done this, he looked up curious as to what she could possibly be looking for, but saw only the moon shining among the stars. He had to admit it was a really nice sight, but hardly worth the scrutiny she would give it. Finally they must have reached her goal, a small wooded area and she slipped into the trees, bringing another curse to his lips, it would be so easy to lose her in the dark and trees. He broke into a jog, listening for the sounds of her footsteps, but they had stopped. He slowed though, as the sound of her voice floated through the air._

_"You know I never asked for much, Lady." She was talking softly but it was so very quiet that her words carried quite clearly. "I still don't understand why things have to be this way. It's really hard sometimes to just accept that it has to be this way."_

_He leaned against the tree finally seeing her where she sat under a similar tree. The moonlight was shining through the limbs and he could swear he saw tear tracks on her face. When had she started crying and why? He wondered. She punched the ground hard._

_"Damn it, why can't you all just leave me alone? I don't want this, I never wanted this. But did you ever take that into consideration? No. I don't think so." she buried her face into her arms and he could just barely hear her. "I am so very tired, Lady, so tired of the visions, the fear, my father, I just want it all to end." She waited a moment then raised her face once more, "I just want to know one thing. WHY?"_

_Obeying an impulse that he still didn't quite understand he had gone to her then, wrapped his arms around her and held her as she cried. She never asked why he was there and they never spoke of the night under the trees._

"She never got her answer." He mused out loud looking at the moon. He had often found her after that talking to the moon and stars, looking for answers to questions that he never knew. All he knew was that she never seemed to get an answer.

"Actually she did." A voice at his shoulder spoke making him turn and reach for his gun, but there was no one there.

"What?" he asked into the darkness. He hadn't heard anyone approach, and couldn't see anyone in the garden.

"I said that she actually has gotten the answer to her question." The voice came from some place different this time, and he whipped around, covering a small ficus with the sig sauer he carried. "If you would put that away, we can talk." There was amusement in the voice that had moved once more. He shook his head.

"I don't think so. Who are you?" he said softly, the hairs on his neck standing on end. The stranger chuckled and he felt something brush against the back of his neck. He whipped around so quickly he almost over balanced, but there was no one there.

"A friend of your wife. Really Illya, you mind if I call you Illya? I feel as if I have known you for years, in fact I have." The voice came this time from the pond directly in front of him. Illya's eyes were narrowed as he tried to locate a PA system or something that was the only logical explanation for the occurrences.

"Who are you?" Illya demanded once more. This time the voice sighed heavily and Illya felt something ruffle his hair.

"Put the gun away, and we'll talk." Came the reply. "Otherwise, I'm leaving and you will never get your answers."

Illya didn't have to think beyond that. He holstered the gun carefully but still was ready to move if he was threatened.

"Much better." The voice came from beside him and he turned. The air in the space next to him seemed odd, it was shimmering and at first he thought there was something wrong with his eyes, and he rubbed them lightly. He must have been more tired than he thought, or the wine at dinner- for he could swear that a pair of eyes was looking at him from a face that he could only describe as a cross between a cat and a crocodile, hanging in midair, but that couldn't be possible. The cat's eyes glowed and he felt a chill run down his spine as the mouth, containing lots of teeth, he noted, opened and the voice came from it.

"It's a pleasure to finally meet you."

Illya closed his eyes and rubbed them, this couldn't be possible. It must be the wine and stress he had been under. Maybe he should make an appointment with Mental Health when he got back to New York.

"Why is it that humans always think they are seeing things?" the voice mused.

"Maybe because what I'm seeing doesn't exist." He muttered pragmatically. He opened his eyes to find more of the creature beside him. It appeared to have the body of a lion, sort of, if you discounted the scales that glimmered in a red gold rainbow, and the wings, that he noticed didn't have feathers per se, but instead were covered with long fur. He nodded.

"I think it is time for me to retire at last." He said softly starting to stand. He had obviously gone over the edge.

"Would you please sit down?" the voice ordered and a ruby claw plucked at his sleeve which really caught his attention. It pulled him back onto the bench and he stared in total shock. It had touched him, he had felt it, therefore it must be real, not his mind finally giving out on him. "Oh believe me Illya Nickovetch, I am very real, more real perhaps than you are. But let's save the metaphysical discussion for later. There are many things you must know before you meet with your wife on the morrow."

"What the hell are you?" Illya choked out as the cat-crocodile-lion-bird moved restlessly.

It snorted, a small flame of fire puffing out of its nose. "Now that's an original question." The sarcasm was sharp. "I am many things, by the way, this is a most interesting form if I do say so. Something from your Russian past or could it be something your Romany grandmother used to frighten you as a child?"

"I don't remember my grandmother." Illya said automatically.

The creature snorted again. "Oh, I think you do. As for your question, I am what I am. To Pagan, or Shado, I am the Phoenix, her teacher and friend, well sort of, depending on the day. To someone else I am the Elemental of Fire. I have many forms, many different names." It looked at itself reflected on the still pond. "Obviously." It moved its attention from the reflection to Illya's still stunned face. "You know Dr. Kuryakin, it's amazing that you have managed thus far, to live as long as you have. Can you not suspend disbelief for a moment and consider that there are things beyond your perception? Things that possibly have watched over you since you were a boy? How else would you explain your continued existence, given everything that has happened to you in your life?"

"Skill, luck." Illya said.

"Uh huh. And maybe, just possibly that luck was not luck as you would think of it." There was a flicker of movement at the corner of his perception and he turned toward it instinctively and a startled exclamation was pulled from him. Lying a few feet from him, curled into a small ball, was something that he had seen only on the verge of unconsciousness a few times in his life. It looked like a winged wolf, and as he stared at it, it raised its head, smiled toothily at him and winked a deep blue eye, then faded slowly out of his sight.

"Bozhe moi." He whispered.

"Illya," the soft voice of his partner floated to him through the garden and Illya grabbed onto that with both hands calling for Napoleon to join him.

"I got a little worried when you didn't come back." Napoleon said moving past the trees on the path.

"How did you find me?"

"Deduction. Actually I didn't think to look here, I just ended up coming up here on a whim." Napoleon appeared to Illya's left. He took one step toward the bench and promptly froze, his mouth open.

"Napoleon?" Illya asked softly, not daring to hope that Napoleon could see his hallucination as well.

"Illya, I hate to ask a stupid question, but that seems to be all that I have right now. What in the hell is that thing?"

"You can see it, Napasha?"

"Well yeah."

"What do you see?" Illya asked desperate to hear that he wasn't crazy.

"Well it's kind of- odd. Like someone ran mad and crossed a cat with a crocodile with a dash of lion and bird thrown in." Napoleon stared at the oddity crouching next to his partner. It preened its wings and grinned at him showing a lot of tooth.

"Thank you Napoleon. I thought for a moment that I had lost my mind." Illya said in relief.

"Oh that may still be a possibility tovarich. It is possible that we have both lost our minds."

"Humans, you are so very predictable. Now come over here, Mr. Solo and take a seat. I don't have all night and there is a lot we need to talk about." Phoenix said stretching out his wings. He snapped his jaws shut with pleasure. He liked this form, he would have to remember it for future reference. He waited until Solo had joined Kuryakin on the bench, then he began to talk. This was going to be so much fun, he mused.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter Fourteen

Illya clutched the slender black "feather" they had been given last night. He still couldn't quite believe the events had actually happened. Had Napoleon not been there he would have thought he had hallucinated the whole thing, feather notwithstanding. One did not converse with creatures that had no basis in physical reality, yet it had happened. The Phoenix, or whatever it had been, had been most forthcoming about certain things. Things that had made Illya's mind boggle. Battles between Good and Evil, mental powers that defied even the most ambitious THRUSH plotting, military conspiracies and in the midst of it all, his wife. Who wasn't the same gentle soul he remembered. Not if the stories Phoenix had shared had been true. Somehow the thought of his wife leading a group like the one that Phoenix had described, charging into the violence with glee, the visions of her "killing" the opposition was much more difficult to accept than anything else. He shook his head, yet all through the discourse there had been the unshakeable feeling of truth to the stories. Even Napoleon had admitted as much, that he also found himself believing what they had been told.

Now as they returned to the beach house once more, they both stared at the black obsidian feather that Phoenix had gifted them with just before he had gone "Cheshire cat" on them, to quote Napoleon. The feather was incredibly intricate, a perfect replica of a raptor's primary, it was almost a foot in length, and the edges were razor sharp, as they had found out when Napoleon had sliced his thumb on the edge. Phoenix had told them that they were to keep it, to show Shado, for that was the name she used now, once they got there. She would understand then, he had said fading from their view. Only the feather and their matching memories the proof that he had even been there.

Exiting from the limo, Napoleon told Tony, their driver, not to wait that he would call when they were ready to leave. Tony drove off, leaving them standing outside the house. Napoleon rang the doorbell and they waited. There was the faint sounds of music coming over their heads, indicating that at least someone was still home. Illya had been afraid that Paige might have run in the night. The door opened abruptly and the music filtered out, something they both recognized as a popular rock band. There was a woman standing there that they didn't know. She was tall, close to 5'9" with very dark hair and brown eyes. She smiled at them.

"I am so glad you guys got here." She motioned them in. Her voice wasn't familiar either. She spoke over her shoulder as she headed down the hallway. "Come on she's been waiting for you."

As they passed the dragon statuette they both saw it turn its head and wink. A toothy grin completed the image of a completely happy dragonet. Illya clutched the feather tighter as one of the things that Phoenix had said became reality. No wonder they had felt like they were being watched, he thought. All the statues weren't statues, and they had been watching them. He nodded to the guardian at the door and felt something brush against him in approval.

"It's about time you all showed up." A tall man in his 30's said from his place at the kitchen table. He was cradling a cup of coffee and took a sip from it. Black hair just brushed his shoulders and he sported a goatee. Illya and Napoleon looked at him. It was obvious to them that he knew who they were but they were completely in the dark as to his identity. His eyes caught sight of the feather that Illya held carefully and widened. He whistled sharply and pointed. "Oh that's just effing wonderful. Guaranteed to send her totally over the moon." At his words the woman spun on her heel and followed his finger to the feather. She pursed her lips and shook her head.

"Man, this sucks. Decision made huh?"

"I'm sorry but do we know you? Either of you? You seem to know us." Napoleon said refusing to go any further.

The man chuckled. "You might say that we have already met. In one incarnation more or less." He stood and held out his hand. "I'm Keeper. But you know me best as..." and suddenly the blond twenty something stood there. "Mark." He grinned once more the older dark haired man. Napoleon stared in amazement. Somehow hearing about it was completely different than seeing it firsthand. The woman chuckled.

"I'm BlackMage, or Mage if you prefer. Or if you would rather, Natalie."

A sound came from the living area, a solid thunk of something hitting the wall, followed by a muffled squeak and Keeper/Mark hung his head with a heavy sigh. "Mage, see if you can't do something, please. That's the eighth dagger she's thrown at Faln in the past ten minutes. One of these times she might actually hit her."

"Yeah like I'm going to stick my head out there and take one for the team. Nope, sides if she was really serious she wouldn't miss." Mage/Natalie said shaking her head emphatically.

"Oh all right. I'll go let her know that her guests have arrived. IF I'm not back in five minutes..." he said standing. He put his cup of coffee down and disappeared into the other room. Illya started to follow but Mage placed a hand on his arm.

"I would wait until Keeper let's her know you are here. She's not in the best of moods this morning."

"That's an understatement." Said a petite dark haired girl sliding around the corner. "I'm FalnPhoenix, most call me Faln."

"Tricia." Mage supplied. Faln grinned and pulled out her sleeve to display a neat slice through it.

"She's really in a foul mood."

"You need to learn to duck quicker." Mage said. "Coffee?" she offered. Both Napoleon and Illya declined with a head shake. Mage poured herself and Faln a cup. Yet another thunk this time followed by a man's voice cussing all heralded Keeper's return to the kitchen. He glared over his shoulder and then nodded to them both.

"She's on the deck." He said sitting once more. "I should warn you, she's not had any sleep and is just a_ little_ cranky." He emphasized the word little. Both of the girls snorted into their cups. "But I don't think she'll try to skewer you."

"Oh no, that she saves for us." Faln snickered. They exchanged knowing looks as the agents headed into the living area.

Illya's eyes were only for the figure pacing along the deck. Today she was wearing a flowing skirt in a bronze color and a matching cream colored peasant blouse. Her hair hung loose except for the braid that he suspected was a permanent fixture. She was currently bare foot, but a pair of suede boots leaning against the desk told him it was only temporary. Napoleon bumped against his arm, drawing his attention to where ten black hilted daggers stuck out of the mantle edge on the fireplace. They both looked closely at the hilts that swayed slightly. They were made from an odd substance, but then he recognized it as the same substance that made up the feather they carried. Obsidian. Rather brittle for a dagger he thought, but very, very sharp. She must have seen them because she was standing stock still. Her eyes were clamped onto his face, a tender smile gracing her lips. He felt his own smile start. No matter what, he would always love her.

She had not been able to sleep, that retreat denied by the feeling of impending doom that descended on her once her decision had been reached. There was no way that she could tell him, not with the things that she had done in the past, and most certainly not with the current state of her life. She would tell him about their son. She did owe him that much, even take him out to meet him, since Blair was still at the University. But then she would insist that they go their separate ways. It would be better for them all. She wouldn't begrudge Illya his son but he would have to be content with that. As she tossed and turned upstairs in her lonely bed though, her heart had other wishes.

He was all she had ever wanted, her every dream made flesh. To have lost him once had damn near killed her, only the thought of wreaking vengeance on those who had betrayed him had kept her going for a time. Then the birth of their son had been her sole focus. She had lived her life, day to day, carving a niche of safety for her and Blair. When he was finally old enough that she could return to work, she had crafted yet another identity for herself, this time in the military, the Air Force. She had been disappointed to discover that her father had passed away months before from a stroke, she had so wanted to end his life personally. But in a way she was rather relieved, although she had walked away from the Church at the same time she disappeared, the sin of patricide was one she really hadn't wanted on her soul. But the others, they had all paid with their lives. Her skills had won her a coveted place in Black Ops, something she found rather helpful, since some of her intended targets were also wanted by the military.

The only one who she had not hunted had been Napoleon. He hadn't turned his back on them, he had been removed in an underhanded maneuver by her father. She had broken into UNCLE HQ, that's when she had learned of her father's death and Napoleon's appointment as Number One Section One. Something that she was pleased to learn, she had flirted briefly with finding him in the rabbit warren of HQ but instead had only broken into the armory, removing Illya's equipment and ID card from the storage boxes there. He deserved so much better than to be a box in storage.

It took her time to extract her revenge on those who deserved it, but eventually they all died at her hands. Sigorsky though, that one she had particularly enjoyed. She had slit his throat after letting him know who she was, he had begged and pled for his life much as Illya had pled for hers. But she had done it anyway, smiling as he bled out. The last on her list. Then she turned her attentions to her work for the military, becoming one of their top operatives.

As for Blair, he never questioned where his mother disappeared too, seeming content to stay with her "friends" until she returned. Then they would move, rumors that someone was looking for them, pushing her to run once more. Little had she known that although it had been Napoleon, the reason was not the one she feared. So had their lives gone.

She never allowed anyone close again, not willing to risk the pain of a relationship and certainly not wanting to hear his son call any other man father. Not when Blair's every move was pure Illya, not when he had his father's eyes and his smile. No, she didn't want to tarnish her memories with those of someone else.

Now with his return from the dead, all she wanted was to hold him and be held. To have what fate and time had denied them, what was still denied to her. She couldn't ask him to believe something that, even though she lived it, was so fantastic that it was an impossibility. He would never understand, not her Illya, not the prosaic scientist. Her visions had been one thing and she knew that he barely understood those, this was something completely beyond that small ability.

Still though, she wanted him, needed him. To live without him knowing he was alive, the mere thought was more painful than she could stand and she rolled herself out of the bed. Dressing in the first outfit that came to hand, a long skirt and peasant blouse combo Blair had sent her from an expedition a few years back and grabbing the matching suede boots, she headed downstairs to wait for him to return.

She was barely aware of the temper she was taking out on her "kids" as she paced the deck. She certainly wasn't aware of her knife throwing answers to simple questions, all she was aware of was the fact that she was about to break her own heart. Then suddenly, he was there. Standing next to the fireplace, something in his hands that she couldn't see that he handed to Napoleon, ever the shadow at his side. It didn't matter, she felt her heart flip over and a smile crossed her face, the first all morning.

He was dressed in black, her favorite and his usual. A turtleneck and sport coat, black slacks and despite the limp and use of the crutch he was still graceful. He moved slowly toward her and she could see the uncertainty in his eyes. Those eyes, the ones that she had seen staring out of Blair's face for nineteen years, those eyes that had haunted her dreams for the same length of time questioning her decision. Then his arms were around her, his kiss a gentle question, and she knew. She knew that there was no way she would ever be able to let this man walk out of her life, much less throw him out as she had planned. She melted against him, giving him his answer in that simple movement.

Illya could feel it as she relaxed into him, her arms wrapping around him. Paige leaned into him and kissed him back, her lips parting for him. He kissed her slowly relearning her taste, a faint trace of cloves and spices with a hint of nicotine, and he couldn't help his reaction. He moaned and deepened the kiss, forgetting for a moment that they weren't alone. He ran his hands into her hair feeling the weight of it tug at him. She was his, always would be. When at last he broke the kiss, he whispered to her softly.

"Mine." He brushed his lips over hers once more.

"Mine." She replied and bit at his lip. He smiled and just held her.

"I take it you have decided?" he asked knowing her answer.

"Took me all night, and even then I changed my mind." She said into his chest. God, he felt and smelt so very good. "I can't let you go Illyusha. I still love you, but what I have to tell you-well it is going to be difficult for you to listen to much less accept."

Illya chuckled. "I bet dushka."

"Seriously, Illya, come on sit down we need to talk." She pushed him toward one of the deck chairs, her intention to tell him everything.

"I think first, my love, you need to know that Napoleon and I had a most interesting conversation last night, did we not Napasha?" he called to the other man waiting to be acknowledged before he joined them.

"Indeed we did partner." Napoleon joined them on the deck, the feather clasped behind his back. "Good morning Paige." He pulled the feather around and handed it to her. "Or would you rather we call you ShadowedSensei?"

Last thing in the world she expected from the morning was the sight of Napoleon Solo handing her one of the Astral Feathers that Phoenix used. She didn't quite comprehend what they were saying as she stared at the long black object, her mind clicking rapidly for any explanation other than the one that was the most obvious. They couldn't possibly... no...it... As she took the feather that Napoleon handed her, the message that Phoenix left for her imprinted in it flooded her mind. The vision that filled her now was chilling and absolute.

_He was so tired, his sleep deep and troubled. He looked so worn and sad and it tore at her heart. He didn't look much older than he did right now, she noted with a cold shiver. That means this is close, she thought. She could feel the evil surrounding him, coming for him and she tried to warn him, but couldn't get through the miasma that was quickly filling the room where he lay sleeping. Something must have registered because he opened his eyes. He sat up reaching out of habit for the gun on the nightstand. He looked around the room for the threat that he could feel. She tried to scream a warning, but couldn't._

_Seeing nothing he placed the gun back on the nightstand and laid back on the pillows, falling almost immediately back into a troubled sleep._

_Outside the door to the apartment she could see them gathering, their dark twisted minds a beacon she was drawn to. Not all the Enemy was incorporeal, these were men, caught by the Dark and twisted to its purpose. One of them bypassed the security system he had in place, opening the door to the apartment easily and silently. Again she tried to warn him, but could only watch as they moved into the room where he lay once more asleep._

_By the time his own inner warning woke him, they were on top of him. He didn't stand a chance, none of his training had taught him how to fight the Dark. It wrapped him in a binding so tight that he couldn't struggle making him an easy kill for those who had broken in._

_She screamed as she watched him die. This time she knew there would be no miraculous resurrection, no mistake. She watched them as they left, laughing, wiping his blood from their hands contemptuously on the towels they found in his bath. They closed the door, resetting the security system behind them. Nothing left behind could identify his attackers, this she knew._

The vision fast forwarded.

_Napoleon stood in the door to the bedroom, his face pale and set. His eyes raked over the blood soaked bed where the body of his partner and friend had been found. There hadn't been much left, just enough to identify the mangled remains as Illya. There was no doubt this time, he knew. He raised his cell phone; tears running down his face as he dialed. His voice broke on the name. "Paige."_

_She saw herself take the call, watched as she collapsed onto the floor. Felt the knowledge that this was her fault, that she had failed him sink into her bones. Saw the funeral, the unspoken accusation in Napoleon's eyes cutting her to the quick, the confusion in Blair's as she tried to explain who Illya had been. But the vision wasn't done with her yet. Time passed, this she knew, she saw the change that slowly came over her, the slow decay of her will to fight, the way her distance made them begin to drift_ _apart, changing the core of all they were trying to accomplish as she began to doubt herself. Until at last, there was nothing left of herself, the fight gone, lost before it ever began._

'Fledgling, you must bring them into the Circle. It is written. Your love's part in the coming times is set and cannot be denied. To deny this will be his end at the hands of the Dark. There is nothing you can do to change their destinies. It has been thus throughout all the days of time.' She tried to protest but the avatar wasn't finished yet. 'It is the only way that you can protect him, keep him safe. The Dark knows of him now. Without him, you will fail, ShadowedSensei.'

She wasn't aware of her surroundings as the vision took hold. She only saw what Phoenix wanted her too. As the vision ended she snapped back to the present to find both Illya and Napoleon staring at her in concern. The stark horror of the vision held her in its sway, and she stared at her husband so recently returned to her, the knowledge of what was waiting for him, whether she gave into the wishes of the avatar or not, filled her with anger, fear and despair. He didn't know that his life had just changed forever in ways that he could barely comprehend. She knew though, knew it in every bone in her body. He would never be safe again, not as long as she lived and not as long as the Dark was active. Frantically she sought a different path, sending her talent along the different lines she knew existed, but each led to the same point, unless she brought him fully into the Circle, he would be prey and unable to fight what was coming. Even if she brought both Napoleon and Illya into the Circle, she knew that their lives would always be in danger.

She dropped the feather onto the table. She leaned back, avoiding their eyes for now, staring up into the clear blue sky. A lone seagull coasted on the thermals and she followed it for a few moments. Then she sighed and rolled her head toward the house.

"I suppose you all have questions." She said softly still looking up at the sky. The gull cried, a solitary squawk and continued its spiral.

"Honestly, Paige," Illya said. "I am not sure what to ask. It was very strange."

She snorted, an inelegant sound but appropriate. "I bet. It's not every day that you talk to something that doesn't really exist." She sat upright and ran a finger over the feather. "I am really surprised that you are even willing to admit the possibility of its reality."

Illya smiled, she knew him well. "Had Napoleon not experienced the same thing as I, I would not have been able to."

"Well, I feel I should warn you. It only gets weirder." She flicked the feather with her fingertip. "Would you all like something to drink?" she asked suddenly. Without waiting for their answers, she summoned a drink for them all. A cup with Earl Grey tea and lemon appeared in front of Napoleon, in front of Illya a cup of hot Russian tea, and in front of herself a cup of Market Spice tea. She grinned. "I think I remember how you all take your tea."

Napoleon picked up his glass cautiously, sniffed it and took a sip. Pleasure crossed his face as he took an even longer drink. "Perfect." He said. Illya tested then drank the tea that he had. "What else can you do, Paige? The things we heard about..."

She tensed, then jumped as the shrill ring of the phone echoed from inside the house. "Napoleon, let's just say we're your hottest wet dream and your worst nightmare and leave it at that." She looked over the rim of the porcelain teacup that she held. "I don't know what you have been told, but I guarantee that you have no idea what the past five years have been like for us."

"Tell us, Paige." Illya leaned forward, he could see the shadows forming in her eyes. He had a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach and it was borne out by those very shadows. He remembered what it had been like when she had her visions, the screaming night terrors that would happen at the oddest times. The times he would come home to find her crouched, crying on the floor of their bedroom. Or even worse than the screams, the silent tears that would start from her eyes for no reason that he ever knew.

"What happened to us was a thousand times worse than anything that THRUSH ever did during their experiments." She shivered. "I had actually managed to gain some control over the visions until that assignment came down. Hadn't had one in over a year. That changed really quick thanks to their cocktail." She sipped from her cup and set it down sharply. "At first I had no idea what was going on. Hell, I actually believed their scenario," her voice changed, deepened into an imitation of a man's, a soft Texas drawl coloring her speech. "'Colonel, you will be testing our newest virtual reality training simulators.' Christ how fucking stupid was I? It took a bit for the cocktail to start working." She snapped her fingers and a folded piece of paper appeared in her hand. She opened it and stared at it for a bit. Then she handed it to Illya. "You'll probably recognize part of this."

Illya read the notations on the paper out loud. "25 mg 5 MeO, 400 ug lysergic acid diethylamide, 20g 3,4,5-trimethoxyphenethylamine. Bozhe moi, Paige." He whispered. "LSD, Mescaline and..."

"The kicker, a known beta blocker." She nodded. "Add to that a little EMF pulse for extra stimulus. Well, let's just say that things got really interesting very quickly. That particular combination blasted open a doorway that I couldn't close. None of us could." Her laugh was bitter. "They didn't count on that. We scared them. We could talk to each other, could tell where each was in the complex, describe events as they would happen and never once leave our rooms. What they didn't know was that we weren't alone. Something else was waiting for those doors to be opened."

"Phoenix?" Illya asked his eyes on hers. His voice was calm, but she could see the storm going on in him. He had the irrational urge to find those that had hurt her and eliminate them in every painful way he knew.

"Among others." She sipped her drink, listening to the ring of the phone peal once more from the house. An unconscious frown crossed her face for a moment then faded.

"He spoke about keeping the balance?" Napoleon was hesitant in his question.

"Ah, yeah, well..." she struggled for a way to explain the Balance."Think of it almost like UNCLE and THRUSH. Only we're stuck in the middle, trying to keep it even." She set her cup down and gestured. "Our job is to keep the playing field even, the Nameless cheats, the One doesn't. Right now, we are fighting on the side of the One. That could change."

"Meaning?"

"There will come a life when we fight for the Nameless. We have in the past, we will in the future." She dropped her eyes. "That's what a Shadow Runner is. One who lives in the shadow, eschewing the Light and the Dark, existing in both." She shrugged and looked up at them both, her face unapologetic. The phone rang yet again catching her attention once more, this time her head cocked as she listened to the sounds of it being answered. She gestured for Napoleon to slide the door open and he did so, turning half way around in his seat to accomplish the task.

"I'm sorry but there's no one here by that name, I think you have a wrong number." Floated through the slider causing Shado's eyebrow to raise. "Like I said, sir, I think you have a wron..." Shado stood and moved to the open slider, trailing her fingers along Illya's shoulders as she did so.

Faln was standing by the futon, phone cradled on one shoulder, seeing Shado's appearance at the open slider she placed a hand over the mouthpiece. "Some guy keeps calling for a Naomi Sandburg..."

"Shit, give me the phone Faln." Shado said quickly. She took the piece proffered through the open door. "This is Naomi. Blair, honey is that you?"

"Mom?" Blair's voice sounded through the ear piece, and she grinned.

"Hey baby, how are you? Did you get my message?" she smiled at her husband ruffling the hair behind his ear as she listened for their son's answer.

"Mom." He said again, something in his tone catching her attention. She frowned and half turned away from the table, suddenly tense.

"Blair, honey, is everything ok?" Inside the house she could see her "kids" gathering in the living room, her conversation easily heard through the still open door. Her tension was clear to everyone. There was no answer to her question. "Blair? Is everything all right?" she asked once more her voice sharp, behind her both Napoleon and Illya reacted to the tone as did the group in the house. Still there was no answer, only the click of the phone being disconnected. "Blair?" a heartbeat of waiting, "Blair?" only dead air. Confused for a moment she stared at the dead phone in her hand but then dialed the number to his dorm. Illya tugged on her hand, mutely asking a question, she shook her head and waited until the phone was answered.

"Animal House, chief Zookeeper here." The boisterous answer of the Chief Resident answered.

"Hey, Noel, this is Naomi Sandburg, Blair's mom, is he around?" she asked listening intently for his answer over the background noise of the dorm.

"Naomi! Let me check and see." There was a rustle of noise, then the sound of Noel's holler, "Hey Kevin, is Sandburg here?" A muffled shout was heard and he interpreted it for her. "Kevin says Blair left for class this morning, might check with Doc Stoddard."

"Ok thanks, Noel. If he comes in let him know that I called would you?"

"Sure thing, Naomi." There was a pause. "You need that number?"

"Hargrove Hall right? I have it thanks." She hung up the phone and punched in another number.

"Paige, dushka, is everything all right?" Illya asked concerned. He kissed the palm of her hand and she smiled at him.

"Not sure. That was Blair, but..."

"Dr. Eli Stoddard." Came the brusque voice of Blair's advisor and mentor.

"Eli, this is Naomi, is Blair there? He called but we got disconnected."

"Naomi. No I haven't seen Blair all day. He wasn't in class this morning." Eli sounded quite put out and she clenched her fist around the receiver.

"Are you sure, he wasn't sitting in the back Eli?" she was trying to keep the fear coursing through her under control. "Blair never misses class..."

"Naomi, he wasn't there. There was an exam scheduled for today and he should have been proctoring it for me since I had a meeting with Chancellor Edwards." Eli rustled some papers, "Someone else had to proctor it."

"Thank you Eli." She said slowly her eyes unfocused. There was a sick feeling swirling around in her stomach and suddenly her knees were weak. She hung up the phone and closed her eyes.

"Paige?" Napoleon asked sharply. She turned to face them both.

"Blair missed his class this morning. Blair *never* ever misses class." Her words were very soft but the tone was unmistakable. "I am not going to panic, I am not going to panic. There's obviously a reasonable explanation."

The ring of the phone in her hand made her jump and she stared at it for a moment before answering. "Hello?"

"'Allo, luvie." The heavily accented voice sent a chill down her spine. She knew that voice well. "Been a while hasn't it?"

"Sepheran." She said tautly. Both Illya and Napoleon jerked as if they had been shot. The name was very well known to them both, having battled against the THRUSH operative for most of their careers.

"You remember me. I'm honored ducks. Thought maybe you had forgotten all about me. After all it's been almost twenty years hasn't it?" he chuckled deeply into her ear. "Why don't you put me on speaker phone, there Naomi, or are you going by Paige once more? What I have to say is for all of you to hear."

"There's no one here but me." She started to prevaricate but he tsked her to silence.

"Now, ducks, I know for a fact that Solo and Kuryakin are sitting right there with you. Such a lovely little family reunion you have going there. Pity you are missing one member of the family. Go ahead, ducks, want them to hear what I have to say as well. 'S a nice little talent you have there, use it." The menace in his voice further chilling her.

Her heart in her throat she laid the hand set on the table. With a quick motion of her hand all could hear his words.

"Impressive ducks." Sepheran said smoothly, his voice echoing slightly in the stillness. "Always knew you had it in you. Isn't she something else, gentlemen?"

"Sepheran." Napoleon took over the conversation, the role of Number One coming to the fore. Illya, still holding her hand, pulled her up against him, sliding his arm around her to offer comfort. They all knew the significance of this call, though it had yet to be spoken. Keeper and the rest of the circle congregated just inside the slider, listening to the call as well.

"Surprised, Napoleon?" Sepheran gloated slightly.

"Frankly yes. Thought we blew you up years ago." Napoleon replied truthfully. Their nemesis had been reported killed in a laboratory explosion shortly after Illya's return to duty. "Obviously we were mistaken."

"Obviously." Sepheran chuckled once more. "Amazing isn't it?"

"Oh not really." Illya muttered, his voice just carrying to the phone.

"That's right. You have just recently returned from the dead yourself haven't you, dear Illya?"

"What do you want Sepheran?" Napoleon snapped.

"The usual, power, money, prestige, your heads on a silver platter." Sepheran's reply was flippant but rang with truth, he had wanted them dead for many years. "I have a guest here with me, would you like to speak to him?" A slight scrape of something moving was clear. "Say hello to your mum and dad."

"Mom?" Blair's voice cut her to the bone.

She forced herself to be calm when she found her voice. "Blair, honey are you all right?" amazingly enough she succeeded. Quickly she began to move along the bond that she shared with her son, seeking him through the astral. She knew that if she could trace him that way she would be able to tell where he was and effect his release with a minimum of effort. Focusing her concentration on the light that was Blair she started to travel. She could feel herself leaving the confines of her body, flying along the brightly colored strand that bound her to Blair. Trusting her instincts and abilities she poured more energy into finding him. She would have to hurry.

There. He was there surrounded by deep shadows, his light almost completely hidden from her sight, and in the shadows she could see movement.

"Mom, I don..." His reply was cut off and Sepheran's voice returned.

"He's fine, a bit frightened perhaps, but in one piece. For now." The line went dead severing her connection to Blair abruptly, catching her off guard and plunging her into the darkness that had him.

Only Illya's arm kept her from hitting the deck.


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter Fifteen

She came to, opening her eyes to find herself laying on the futon in the living room, a pair of very worried blue eyes staring into hers. With a groan, Shado rubbed her hand over her eyes and then traced her fingers down Illya's cheek. He responded by pressing her palm tightly into his face. His eyes drifted closed as they relished the connection of flesh touching once more. She purred slightly and slid her hand to the back of his neck. He slowly moved toward her and the touch of his lips against hers had her purring even more. His kiss was tentative at first, a mere brush of lip to lip but she opened her mouth, a silent plea for more. The taste of his mouth was a memory that she had never forgotten and she pled for more, arching off the futon into his arms. He deepened the kiss, a stifled moan in his throat. The heat that they had always shared flared between them, blocking the memory of recent events from both their minds, their passion and love reawakening from its twenty year sleep. His arms found their way around her back, holding her upright and safe at last against his chest.

Keeper and Napoleon shared a look from their respective positions in the room. The girls smirked at the sight of their normally calm sensei, losing herself in a simple kiss. Napoleon grinned and pulled his communicator from his pocket. Yes, things might be screwed up right now, but at least his friend and partner had found what he had been searching for. Keeper rolled his eyes toward the ceiling and cleared his throat.

"Ah, Sensei," he growled softly. He wasn't too happy with this development. The re-appearance of her long dead husband, someone he hadn't even known existed, had really thrown his own emotions into chaos. He wasn't sure if he was happy for her or not. He had fancied himself in love with her since they had first met, years ago, but their one attempt at a relationship had bombed before it even begun. The one "date" they had gone on had ended in laughter and the knowledge that there was too much between them for any romantic involvement. However, that didn't stop him from experiencing a flash of hot jealousy when Illya finally broke the kiss, pulling back with a faint blush on his face.

Shado groaned and hid her face in his chest, her cheeks crimson with embarrassment. She clutched Illya's shoulders burying herself deeper into his arms as reality came crashing back down on her. He held her, awkward in the position they were in, but equally reluctant to let her go. After a few moments she pulled back from the hold, her eyes searching his for a second, then she moved so that they weren't off balance anymore.

"I couldn't find him." She said to the air. Keeper and the members of the circle knew exactly what she was talking about and frowns moved across their faces. Keeper's scowl deepened as the ramifications of what she had attempted made their appearance.

"Sensei, I thought you had more sense than to try to trace that call." he scolded, folding his arms across his chest and letting his posture speak his displeasure. "What if you had been lost?"

She shrugged. "I wasn't. I had to try. He's my son." She said glaring at Keeper over Illya's shoulder.

"Excuse me? What?" Napoleon said, he was still holding his communicator, trying to decide who would be the best of the agents on the roster to handle this situation, aside from Illya and himself.

"She tried to follow the call using her talent." Mage said in explanation.

"I don't understand."

"It's possible for us to 'follow' something on the astral plane, provided there is a connection. Like a voice on the phone or sometimes even using line of sight. Kind of like tracing equipment." Mage continued.

"And this is dangerous?" Illya asked, tightening his grip on Shado for a moment. She wiggled slightly until he loosened his hold.

"Not really." She started to say but Faln broke in.

"Very. If the connection is severed abruptly, the seeker 'scatters' or breaks into pieces and those pieces can be lost. That's why she passed out." She said. She joined Illya beside Shado, checking her pulse and looking her over with a critical eye. "Shado got lucky. Had she not been firmly grounded, she would have stayed lost."

"What happens then?" Napoleon's curiosity leaked into his voice.

"She would slip into a coma and die. That's why she shouldn't have attempted it without the proper preparations."

"Look, there wasn't time and I am fine." She pushed Faln's hand from her forehead. "We have to find him."

"We will, Paige, we will. I'm going to call the office and get a team of our best agents here in just a few hours. When Sepheran calls again we'll be ready for him." Napoleon said activating his communicator.

"No Napoleon. That's the last thing we want to do." Shado said firmly.

"Dushka?" Illya held her hand and gave it a squeeze. She turned to him, her concern in her eyes.

"We can't have more people knowing that we are alive, Love. It's too dangerous." Napoleon started to protest but she cut him off. "I know your agents are trustworthy, but you have to understand our position. The more people who know about us the greater the risk. We have to do this ourselves. No one else." Her voice was firm but her eyes showed the fear and worry that she felt. Illya, reading her more clearly than he should have been able to, nodded.

"Da. No others, Napoleon." His voice was strong with his support of her position. She smiled at him warmly and he felt himself answer with a smile of his own.

"Okay." Napoleon said hesitantly putting his communicator away. "And just how do you propose to do this? We have no idea where they are, how many are involved?"

Tense chuckles filled the room, coming from the Circle. Gem shook his head at Napoleon's naivete. "Mr. Solo, ve haf our ways." He said in a horrible mock german accent, eliciting more chuckles.

"But first, Shado needs to eat and I would recommend a nap as well. She was up all night and I know she didn't eat anything yesterday and unless I miss my guess, the day before as well." Faln said running a critical eye over Shado's pale face, noting lines of strain from her sleepless nights. "Don't argue with me either, you'll lose."

Shado nodded reluctantly. "I'll eat, but a nap is out of the question. There is too much to do and we have little time. Blair is scared and Sepheran is not a patient man."

"Shado, we can't do anything until he contacts us again, we have no idea what he wants." Gem said.

"What he wants is obvious." Illya said. "He wants Napoleon and myself, we have thwarted his plans too often in the past." Shado shook her head, no.

"I don't think so. I have a feeling that you and Napoleon are just icing on the cake this time, Illyusha." She started to move but a glare from Faln made her sigh and settle back into the corner. "Way back when, he made me the offer to stay with Thrush, wanting to use me like my father did. I turned him down rather spectacularly if I may say so myself..."

February 1970.

Paige sat in the chair under the window staring out at the landscape that was visible through the falling snow. She knew that she should feel something, anything but she was numb, her emotions locked deeply inside her with the death of her beloved. She had been a "guest" of Angelique's since the Thrush agent had found her slowly freezing to death beside the cold body of her husband. She felt like she had died herself when the bullet had entered his brain. She wished she had died there, but instead she was still alive, if you could call this living.

"Illyusha." She whispered into the still quiet of her room, frozen tears locked in her chest, the pain of his death as much a part of her as breathing now. The baby, her only link to him, turned and rolled against her diaphragm, the only connection she had to him now. She felt the stretch of her skin and laid a gentle hand on the lump that was their child. Illya had been so happy, she remembered. The memory of his fascination with the new movements, the way he would lay with his head pillowed on her breast and watch for hours for the slight flutter of life... she choked back a sob. She wouldn't cry, not anymore.

The pain of that memory was too fresh, too much for her to bear. The days ahead of her, the rest of her life, stretched before her, bleak and cold. The only light would be the child she carried. His child, conceived in love and hope. She pushed back the memories, the feelings of his arms wrapped around her, burying them deep into her soul, it was the only way she would be able to survive.

The sound of her door opening barely made an impression on her, the soft footfalls even less of one. She didn't turn her head, recognizing the expensive cologne as it wafted to her, Sepheran, Angelique's superior and the one who had found this haven for her. He stopped next to her, laying a hand on her shoulder. She barely repressed the urge to shrug it off, she hated the way he touched her and he knew it. She hated, even more, the enjoyment that he got from hiding her from her father's men. He kept her informed of their efforts to find her, gloating in his superiority.

"Solo is back. His plane landed an hour ago. Your father met him at the airport." Sepheran's voice was smug. "I would have given anything to have seen his face when he got the news."

She did move out from under his hand at that statement, a sharp shrug dropping it quickly. He moved closer, encroaching on her personal space. The smell of his cologne was overpowering and made her nauseous. "I'm sorry, my dear, I forgot for a moment that you are still grieving. Is it any better?" he asked overly solicitous. She frowned at the snow falling outside the window, it had been snowing when Illya died, she thought. She had trouble focusing still and with an effort pulled her attention to the man next to her.

"He will be searching for you, of course. But he won't find you here." Sepheran said misreading her movement. He ran his eyes over the still, silent woman, noting that she was still pale and seemed to have lost even more weight. The doctors he had brought in to care for her were worried that she wasn't eating or sleeping, her depression deepening instead of lessening. The baby moved once more and he fought back the revulsion he felt every time he saw the reminder of her late husband.

He had first encountered Paige three years previous, when she along with Solo and Kuryakin had infiltrated his latest attempt for Thrush. He had been fascinated by the small red-headed psychic. She had been the first true talent that Thrush had in the Project but that hadn't been the only reason for his fascination. Pagan St. John, as she had been known to them, had been vivacious and beautiful, eager to expand her abilities. He had been furious to find that she had been working for UNCLE, and even more furious when her true identity had come across his desk a year later. Had he but known that she was Waverly's daughter... ah the things he could have done. He had tried to find her, to spirit her away on a couple of occasions, but always Kuryakin was there. When their latest plant in the UNCLE HQ had reported that Kuryakin was going to marry her, he had attended the wedding, watching from a perch across the street from the church. She had been even more beautiful in her dress, her eyes shining with happiness that was visible to him across the distance.

He had followed them on their honeymoon, no easy feat, given their background, but he had managed to watch them while they toured Italy. He had only given up his interest in her when it became apart that there would be no way to get to her, no matter how much he wanted to.

When Angelique had contacted him with the news of Illya's execution and the subsequent rescue of Paige, he had immediately put plans into effect to bring her into the Thrush family; hiding her on his newest estate, one that no one knew about, not even his superiors in THRUSH. He had arranged for doctors to monitor her health and the health of her child, hoping to pierce the shell that surrounded her now and turn her to his hand. Still, the sight of her child turned his stomach, for reasons that he wouldn't even admit to himself.

"The baby will be born soon." He said ignoring her silence. "Have you given any thought to a name?" his questions were designed to lull her into complacency, he was very careful not to let her know his true feelings.

Paige frowned once more, she knew well what Seraphan was trying to do. He wasn't able to fool her, but she kept the knowledge to herself. It wouldn't do for the THRUSH mastermind to realize that he was as transparent as glass. She had to play his game for a bit longer, it wasn't safe for her on the outside. Not yet, and especially now that Napoleon was back in the country. She didn't know if he was involved in the conspiracy that had killed her husband or not. She hated the thought that he might have been, but if her father had given the order, she knew that Napoleon would have followed it no matter that Illya had been the target. Such was his loyalty to UNCLE.

She still had trouble believing that her father, despite her feelings for him, had arranged for the sanction on Illya. Yet she had seen the files herself, had recognized his handwriting on the letter that he had sent to Moscow, the letter that Angelique had stolen from his personal safe at home. She had done so using the combination Paige had given her. Paige knew that she really couldn't trust either THRUSHie but, there was something in Angelique that had told her that this was not an elaborate set up. The blond THRUSH was an open book for her to read, and Angelique had been as horrified as she acted by the betrayal of her nemesis by his boss.

Sepheran spoke once more, irritated by the continued silence of the woman he wanted. "You really need to decide what you want to do now that your husband is dead. Will you go back to your father and UNCLE?"

Paige spoke finally, her voice cold and hard. "Never."

"You could stay here. You and your child will be safe in this house. No one will ever find you." He made the offer once more, hoping this time that she would accept it. Paige shrugged. "You know that neither he nor Solo will rest until they have found you. You won't be able to hide from them if you leave here."

She had to force indifference into her posture at his words, when she wanted to smile at his ignorance. Did he honestly believe that she had learned nothing from Illya and her father? That she was incapable of eluding the searching Solo? Egomaniacal idiot, she thought. But she kept herself silent and still.

"Think about it." He said losing his patience finally as her silence descended once more. "The baby will slow you down if you try to run, and you really have nowhere to go."

"Perhaps I might stay. But why would you help me? What's in it for you?" she asked. She knew his reasons but had to play the innocent that he assumed she was. He would never know that her talent had sharpened with the advance of her pregnancy, making his mind an open book. She knew his every thought, the revulsion that he felt when he was reminded of her child and it amused her briefly lost as she was in the chill of her new world.

"The pleasure of knowing that I have what they are looking for." He said casually. "Just the simple joy of denying them is enough for me."

Yeah, right, she thought. And you expect me to believe that you have forgotten all about my talent.

He laid his hand on her shoulder once more. "I also admire you greatly, Pagan. You are a beautiful woman and I have long wished to get to know you better. Ever since we first met years ago, you have been on my mind." He said smoothly, sliding his hand into the hair that had loosened from the braid she had it in.

Paige just barely managed to control her reaction as his words and actions changed from concerned to something infinitely more dangerous to her sanity. She pulled away, moving closer to the window, turning her face to the snowfall once more.

"I love my husband." She said softly. The pain of his loss flooded her once more, breaking through the ice she had built around her heart since his death.

"I know but he is dead. Forgive me, but you must know that I care a great deal about you and hope that someday you will return my feelings. Perhaps in time, once you have recovered from this tragedy, you will come to me." He tried to pull her close but she stiffened and he let her go. "Pagan, I would love you just as much as he did."

"And my child? Could you forget that it is the child of your worst enemy? Or would you hate it as you did its father?" she asked sharply. Damn, him, she thought. How dare he assume that I could ever forget Illya?

"The father of your child doesn't matter to me." He lied ever smooth. "I would care for it as if I were the father. Love it because you are its mother."

Paige sent her mind to his, reading him easily. She could see the lie in his mind, its dark flame brilliant with the hate that he felt for Illya still and knew that her baby would suffer an accident at some point in his young life. Perhaps while she was at work, or asleep. She could see Sepheran's plans for her, see how he wanted to use her to destroy her father and UNCLE and by default Napoleon as well. The man's lust for power turned her stomach and she pulled back quickly, hoping that her pallor hid her distress.

"You are not well." Sepheran said suddenly as she blanched. "You must rest and eat, for the child." He chided. She allowed him to steer her away from her vantage point at the window, moving to the cold lonely bed like a zombie. God, she thought, I have to get out of here. She allowed him to help her lay down, then turned her face to the wall as he arranged the blanket over her.

"You are right, I am tired." She said weakly playing the part. He didn't need to know that his words had woken the part of her buried in grief. "I will sleep. And try to eat more."

"Good. You need your strength." He said. "I will send dinner up to you later." He turned off the light as he left.

She lay there for a long time in the darkness, her mind turning over possibilities. She knew where Illya had planned to take them, he had made certain that she knew all the places where he had hidden money and new identities in case they had been separated. Places that not even Napoleon had known about, it wouldn't be too difficult for her to disappear. The trick would be getting away from this place since she wasn't too certain where here was. She felt the ice that had been her sanctuary begin to melt as she started making plans for her escape. She didn't know whether or not it was a good thing, this loss of sanctuary. She clutched a pillow to her chest as the tears she swore she would cry began to flow once more. The baby moving inside her as silent sobs wracked her frame.

"Hush, little one." She whispered softly. "It will be all right. I promise, it will be all right." She dozed off finally to the feel of Illya's child and the knowledge that she had to get away.


End file.
